Leave Everything up to Fate
by iS2.coheed.and.cambria
Summary: Sam has five days before something terrible takes over him and makes him hurt the only person that really matters. Will he be able to stop himself before time runs out? Lots of Sam angst and hurt!sam. Written in Sam and Dean's POV.
1. Autopilot

**Title: **Leave Everything Up to Fate

**Author: **M (I guess for cursing…) maybe T

**Summary: **Sam has five days before something terrible takes over him and makes him hurt the only person that really matters. Will he be able to stop himself before time runs out? Lots of Sam angst and hurt brothers. Written in Sam and Dean's POV R&R (i'll luv u)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own ANYTHING that has to do with supernatural!

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**AUTOPILOT**

**-SAM'S POV-**

Move forward. No. Left. Then stop. Pause. Breathe.

No Dean, I'm fine. Don't touch. Fine.

I'm standing. Perfectly placed between the TV and the bed. Dead center. And Dean, you're standing directly in front of me, between the red wall and the yellow wall.

And you know what you're separating me from? The door.

My exit, my escape, my way out. Why do I want to leave? Almost forgot, but now it's coming back to me. I'm saving you. But I see your trust in me is petering away, and that's the one thing I need right now. Dean, I need you to trust me. I need you to trust that I'm doing this for you. I need you to trust that I'm saving you.

I'm saving you from myself. This. This hunk of ticking time bomb. I'm at one minute. Maybe less, but definitely not more. I'm ticking to a stop and when I reach zero I'm going to do something I'll regret. I don't want to regret, I have enough to regret.

00:50

You're saying 'No'. I hate that word it means wrong, it means mistake, it means hurt. Well, at least most times, now I feel like it means savior.

00:40

You want to save me, just like I want to save you. You want to help me… Thanks… I'm good. I got this thing called autop… I'll stay here where you can't touch me. Because if you can't touch me, then I can't touch you. And if I can't touch you then I can't hurt you… Unless… No? Good. I left that thing over there. Yeah, I can't hurt you from here.

I step. You step too. You won't let me pass. But I won't let you get hurt, I won't let you d…

00:30

My exit is getting dragged out too long. Thirty more second and I swear I'm adding another thing to my list of failures. Another excuse for you to save me, and yourself. And can't I save you for once? I never told you, but that's all I want to do right now. All I really want to do is save you.

Why? You want to know why I'm running out of this room? You want to know why my head is hanging low and I can't look at you in the eyes? Is that what you want to know? Want to know why I'm swaying and feeling dizzy? I know why but I won't tell you. I know why but I won-

00:20

Easy. This should be easy. I should have sneaked out; I shouldn't have 'scared you'. That's what you said I'm doing; you said I'm 'scaring you'. I'm scaring myself Dean, hence why I want out now. I want to be where I'm only scaring myself. Not anyone else.

00:10

Dean, don't you understand? I need you to move; I need to get away from you! I want to push past you but that would involve… Never mind… And this goddamn thing won't work. I was supposed to just turn it to on and walk out without emotion. Without giving you a clue something was wrong. Stupid auto…

Didn't I say I just needed to go? Didn't I say nothing was wrong? Didn't I ask why I was scaring you and didn't I assure you there was nothing to be scared of? Trust me Dean, I'm doing this for you! The apprehension alone is killing me; just wait until these seconds are over.

00:05

I should have known. I should have left while you were in the bathroom. I should have left while you were sleeping. I should have left when-

I've been living in a world of denial for too long. I knew that this instant was coming today. I knew it was coming during this hour. I knew it was coming at this instant, and still I did nothing.

Dean, you have to move, you have to or else-

I'm taking this into my own hands. I'm running towards the door. Say 'I'm sick of this nonsense.' When you Dean, you make the most sense.

But you catch me. And that's when I feel it. I can feel it. I feel it the instant that my wrist is in your fist and my chest is resting on your open hand.

00:01

I feel my priorities change. This thing was supposed to work! Let go Dean! Let- Oh god Dean-

00:00


	2. This is gonna be reality

A/N: Sorry I've taken so long to update. I was on vacation and working and doing a bunch of other stuff I didn't want to do so I had like no time. But now I'm home for a month and doing afternoon shifts so I should be able to update a lot more : ) I'm going to finish my three multi-chapter fics before I start anything else so these will progress faster… Ok here's chapter two!!

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**THIS IS GONNA BE REALITY…**

**-SAM'S POV-**

**-FIVE DAYS PRIOR TO 'AUTOPILOT'-**

Goddammit.

There isn't really much else to say other than that.

Goddammit. _Goddammit._

Tell Dean? No he'll think I'm weak. He'll say, "Let that chick pull one over on ya?" and I'll say shutup. But he'll still look at me that way. That way that screams, "Now I have to save you again? Jesus, Sam!"

I'll skip the looks of disappointment and go straight to what would happen any way.

Research. That's right I'll sit down with my laptop while Deans in the shower, or when he's sleeping or when he's out getting a drink. I'll find out what's really going on. I'll figure out how to fix this mess I'm in. I'll probably find out it was all lies. A curse? Yeah. Ok.

I'm probably blowing all of this out of proportion. Five days will come and go and nothing will change. There aren't going to be any regrets. No should have's. No could have's. Just hours of wasted thought.

"Sam?"

At the sound of my brother's voice I jump and look to the side. He's standing there, brown bag in one hand, hotel key in the other. The room already smelling of burgers and fries. His face, his face is priceless. Probably almost as priceless as I look.

"What the fuck, Sam?" he asks, running over to me as he lets the food fall to the floor. Perfectly good dinner probably destroyed. Why's he cursing at me, doesn't he-

Oh yeah, that's right. Guess I forgot about the room. Cause you see, scattered papers litter the floor, as well as paintings that used to hang on the walls and broken glass that used to form a window. Some pieces of furniture are turned over and damaged. But probably the weirdest thing is Sam.

Or, me that is.

I'm just sitting here on the floor. Smack in the middle of all the destruction, thinking. Not moving. Staring at the blood stained carpet before me.

When I hear him I look at my self, covered in blood. The injuries aren't too bad. Gimme a couple stitches, a couple aspirin. I'll be fine. I'll jump back up and get back to work. Because apparently both our lives depend on it.

"What happened Sam, are you hurt badly?" Dean's has both his hands on my shoulder. His head is hunched down trying to look at my face. Leave me alone Dean, just leave me be.

"Dammit Sam, Talk! Talk now!"

I slowly lift my head to look up at my brother. Man, he's pissed, or at least he will be, "She came." That's it? Because right about now I could say a lot of things, but all I choose to say is a pathetic two words. Do I enjoy making myself sound like a wuss?

"Who? The witch? She came _here?"_

"Yeah, she came here." That's the language Dean understands best, the hunt. The current hunt. We were hunting this witch in town. Dad's journal said shoot it with a silver bullet. It seemed pretty straightforward. That was before I tried that. Who knew? Nothing happened. Pretty much pissed the bitch off, and then she…

"Did ya shoot it?" Dean's looking me over and taking the liberty of poking my where all the bruises are beginning to form. He whispers sorry sometimes, even though I know he doesn't mean to.

"Yeah, it didn't work… Shit, Dean!" It hurt less before he tried to make me better. Goddammit._Goddammit._

"You need at least a few stitches for this over here…" he said pointing at some cut on my stomach, "Are you ok? Seriously? What else did she do to you?"

I didn't dare look up at Dean to give him any kind of hint. Just shook my head, not too hard, just enough to give the impression that I was as convinced as I was trying to make him, "Nothing else."

Dean nodded his head and didn't seem to think much more of it. Just told me I had to get cleaned up. Helped me change like I'm freaking five. Stitched my wounds. I hate being dependant, hate having to rely on my brother all the time.

If there's one thing I'm going to do, Dean is fix this on my own. I'm not going to ask you to save me again. Don't worry, Dean. I can handle this.

But I can still hear that voice in the back of my head, reminding me over and over. Telling me this is really going on, really my reality. Not to let this one get blow off and ignored. She wasn't lying; she wasn't lying.

_Sam, you're being an idiot._

Goddammit. _Goddammit._


	3. You Can Never Dream it Down

A/N: I had a sudden burst of inspiration for this fic so I wrote like two chapters but I'll hold out on the second one for a while and try to get a few reviews : ) Not many people are reading this, but I enjoy writing it so updates pretty close together. Hope your liking it so far, I was thinking of changing the summary, if anyone has any idea like me know lol

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…**YOU CAN NEVER DREAM IT DOWN**

**-SAM'S POV-**

So I'm walking in this dark forest, right? There's like trees and shit all around me, and I start picking up the pace. I'm running from something. That much is clear.

Crystal.

But then this fork in the road comes. I can go one way or I can go the other. Two paths. No going back. No vision to tell me what one might hold. And I have to choose, just me.

And suddenly theirs like this huge weight on my shoulders. I have to carry this weight, this burden. I have to carry it with me on whichever path I chose.

Can you believe it took me this long to figure out I'm dreaming?

The metaphor is so obvious. And I'm sitting here all oblivious. If it were a dog, it would bite me. Or something like that.

Ok. Right. This is a nice dream and all, but I really would like to wake up right now. I want to talk to Dean. Cause you see in the dream before this one I decided I was going to confess. Let him know everything that was going on. The witch. The curse. The dream. The metaphor. The burden. The weight.

The everything.

Not waking up? Let's see…

DEAN!

No?

DEAN!

Hey Dean I need to tell you that I was an idiot and was a smartass to a pissed of witch. And then she said that you and I would pay for it. And then she put a curse on me and in exactly five days I'm going to become a monster. And then she said I better get far away from the people I love. And _then_ she left.

And at the risk of sounding like a Verizon commercial; can you hear me now?

I guess not because if you could, you would have said something back.

…

Nothing? Ok, you can't hear me.

Well, Dean for a while I was planning on not telling you. I was planning on keeping this all a big fat secret. I was going to fix this on my own. I was going to make you say 'Good job, Sammy.'

Can you hear me now?

Dean, I'm getting really nervous I'm not going to be able to beat this. I'm afraid I'll have to lock myself away. Hide the monster I become from you and the world while you try to find some kind of reversal. Some way to save me again. I'm sure you're going to love that.

Can you hear me now?

Dean, you know what else she told me? She assured me that she knew all about me. She said she could read it like nothing. Take a dip into my deepest darkest secrets like butter. Dean, she knew all about Jess, all about Mom. About you and Dad and Max Miller and Sarah and Madison and just about every other human we've come in contact with. She knew all about the vampires and the spirits and the shape shifters and the demon. Yeah, _the _demon.

She told me she knew about our childhood and the impala and Stanford. My hopes, my dreams etc., etc. Oh yeah and she knew about the demon's plans for me. Said she was going to make my worst fear come true. She whispered some nonsense words and then proclaimed her success.

Yeah she basically knew my whole life story in a matter of 20 seconds.

Did I leave that out?

Can you hear me now?

The truth is Dean, since your being such a good listener, is that I'm really, really scared. And I need you and I need you to trust me and I need you to save me. I need you to really be listening right now, Dean. I need to see that look on your face. The look that reassures me you know how I'm feeling, you know what I'm going through.

Can you here me_ now_?

Blink. Oh shit, I'm awake.

"Sammy? I think you were having a nightmare, you started murmuring…"

Oh thank god.

"I couldn't understand what you were saying…"

Son of a bitch.

He feels my forehead. I wonder if I have a fever. That would just be the goddamn icing on the goddamn cake.

"Dean?"

He looks into my eyes and nods.

Can you hear me now? Good.


	4. There's no Difference You Can Make

A/N: OK I hope you like this chapter, and I'll say it a few times IT'S IN **DEAN'S **POV! Just wanted to make that clear : ) Thank you to the people that reviewed, I'm still trying to think of a better summary but ya…

Poaetpainter: Omg when u said the Sam and Dean plushie thing I started laughing so hard I spit out my water all over my keyboard and my H key broke!! Haha I took it to the mac store and fixed it but that was so funny lol All the guy did was take off the little button thing shake out the water and clean it with a tissue and it was fine and I was acting like omg this is the end of the world lol

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**THERE'S NO DIFFERENCE YOU CAN MAKE**

**-DEAN'S POV-**

My life is pretty much one big inconsistency.

Every week there's a new motel. A new hunt. A new dilemma for us to face.

But through all those inconsistencies there are always two constants in my life: Sam and my knowledge.

The knowledge I have of what's really out there. That's something I use, and depend on every single day of my life. And most of this knowledge comes from one extremely reliable source.

My Dad's journal.

Dad's journal can tell me everything I need to know about vampires, reapers, spirits, and werewolves. I turn to that damn thing too much. I rely on it when I don't know what to do. Just like I rely on Sam. Just like I used to rely on my dad. He left me that journal. He left me with that guide on 'what to do if'. He left me that knowledge.

Why I start thinking about this when I walk in the motel room and see Sam sitting on the floor covered in blood, I don't know.

I'm the big brother. I need to take care of Sam. Take care of Sam.

So I sit down next to him and try to figure out what the hell happened. I can tell right away he's shaken up, but right now I need to know. I need to know why he's hurt. I need to know who did this. I need to know if he did it himself. I need to know why the room's trashed. I need to know how we're going to pay for this. I need to know-

I need to know if any of these questions make any goddamn differnce.

"She came."

After a few minutes he sort of- kind of- not really tells me what happened. The only thing usefully that comes out of his mouth is that the silver bullet didn't work, which is fucking great.

Guess Dad's journal isn't all that dependable, eh?

Sam tells me nothing else happened which is pretty hard to believe. He's covered in bruises and blood and sitting in the middle of our destroyed motel room when I find him. He expects me to believe all the witch did was beat the crap out of him and leave?

I may not have gone to college, but I'm not stupid.

The whole time while I guiding him to the bed, helping him change, wiping the blood from my his forehead and just about everywhere else, stitching his wounds and staying by him as he starts to fall asleep, he seems to be in this deep, deep thought. Like what he's thinking right now is something I'm too scared to know about and too scared not to know about. Like what he's thinking means life or death.

Screw it. He's probably just thinking about how bad I'm going to tease him later when he wakes up. Letting some chick pull one over on him. Ha.

When I see Sam is sleeping peacefully, I decide to step out for a few minutes. Our supplies are nearing empty, and I have some strange feeling we might need them. I saw a 7/11 a few blocks away, so I hop in the impala to make my way over there. Cleaning up the room can wait until Sam's better. That way he can help.

I must have only been out for 25 minutes before I arrived back at the room. Again, with a bag in my hand, only to drop it the second I see my brother.

This time he's not covered in blood or sitting out dazed, he's panting. Even in his sleep his breaths are urgent like this room is slowly running out of air. His face is red and a layer of sweat is covering it.

"De… Wit… Nee…"

I'm so stupid, I haven't even realized he's sleeping from across the room. I'm thinking he's awake and talking to me.

So much for knowledge.

"What Sam?"

"… Sca… Wit… Nee…"

"Sam wake up." Yeah, that's totally going to work. I place my hands on his shoulders and lightly shake him. It takes a few seconds for him to blink and look up at me. He looks at me like I'm a stranger, like he's never seen this handsome face in his entire life.

I explain to him he was having a nightmare and murmuring something. Who knows what he was saying. He probably doesn't even know.

I put my hand on his forehead and he's actually cold. The sweat is a cold sweat, which is probably just from nerves.

"Dean?"

Ok, he said my name. So like any normal person I look at him and nod, let him know I'm listening with out actually responding. I expect him to tell me he had a nightmare. Maybe he had some realization he wants me to listen to. Who knows maybe while I was gone he had a vision and now we have to leave this hunt and drive to the other side of the country. But you know what he does?

Stares. Stares at me like I'm friggin Jesus Christ.

"Never mind, Dean… Don't worry… I'm gonna take care of everything…" that's all he whispers before he closes his eyes and falls back into some deep sleep.

Yeah, Dad's journal can tell me a lot. But what it can't tell me is what to do when I think something's wrong with my brother.

A/N: Oh ya review and I'll send you some virtual cookies and Sam and Dean plushies haha ; )


	5. You're Lying While you Confess

A/N: Sam and Dean plushies +++ Chocolate foorrrrororr :: sendintheclows, October Road, Palo Alto, Poaetpainter, and JoyofReading!! Thank you guys SOO much for the kind reviews they mean the world to me lol and (DUHH of course Sam has season 1 hair haha wouldn't have it ANY other way : )

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**YOU'RE LYING WHILE YOU CONFESS…**

**-SAM'S POV-**

I'm pretty sure I know my brother well. I know when he's angry or sad. I know when he's telling the truth or when he's lying right to my face. I know.

I know when he really cares and when he really doesn't. I know when he wants me to tell him what's going on and when he wants me to be the liar. Yeah, I know.

So when my eyes start to open, I know my brother wants to ask me something. I know something is troubling him.

He's sitting on the bed; guns spread everywhere, the knives in different sections. Everything organized by size and type. Color and shape. What the hell is my big brother doing? Cleaning them? Where's the wire bristle brush? Where's the goddamn gun cleaner?

Dean with his gun collection and matching knives. Dean with his gun cleaning hobby.

"Dean? What the hell are you doing?"

"We're missing one."

Dean with his beating around the bush.

I lean up on the headboard and painfully lift my arm into my lap. Lifting limbs shouldn't make want to die for an aspirin. Lifting limbs isn't supposed to make your entire body hurt.

Me with my normally broken body. Nothing new.

"We're missing a gun." Dean hasn't looked at me yet. Just keeps his eyes on the guns, scanning over them like he's going to find it out of nowhere. "I counted them and one's missing… I'm trying to figure out which one it is." Now Dean looks at me. You know that look he does when he doesn't move his entire body, just his head. And he's hunched over so he's looking up at me at a slight angle. Well he's always looking up at me.

"You wouldn't happen to know?"

It's a .45 loaded with one silver bullet. Used to be loaded with two but then I shot the witch lady and now there's only one. And when she attacked me it flew out of my hand, and crashed out the window. Hence why the window is _still _broken. Yeah, that gun's long gone. "No."

Dean's turns back around like he trusts me. I know he doesn't. I know when he's pretending. I know.

He's sighs out an 'oh well' and starts to get the guns and shit together. Starts to put away the extra mess he's created. Now he's smiling at me.

Dean with his big, fake smile.

I take the liberty of taking this second to take a look around this room. This room is fucking trashed. And by the way, I know why Dean hasn't started cleaning it up yet. I know.

And up until this point I sort of forgot to tell Dean about the witch. Oh well. That was a dumb dream hazed idea any way.

Or maybe that was the only time I made any sense at all.

But now I think I've got an idea of what to do. I think I know how to fix this mess. Watch me fix it, Dean. Just watch.

"Dean I think I'm gonna go out for a little bit."

He looks at me like I'm insane before letting his face break into a wide and untimely grin. "Hell, no. You're staying here and helping me with this mess. You're the one that let that witch-"

Dean knew to shut his mouth then. He knew, just like I know. He knows when he's going to far, too soon.

"Sorry."

"Fine. But, really I think I should… go out for a little bit," I try to say this as I stand up. This only makes me seem even more incapable of actually taking a few fucking steps on my own.

"Why?"

"Cause I want to leave this room before you make me clean." I try to say this with a smile. Even with a smile it sounds so obvious there's some reason I want to leave.

Me with my hidden agenda.

Dean shakes his head firmly, and places his hands out, "Sam are you sure nothing else happened with that witch?"

Yeah well, Dean you see I already explained this to you in my dream. Weren't you listening?

"Yes."

"Yes you're sure?"

"Yes."

Dean rolls his eyes so visibly all I want to do is poke them out.

"Want to try answering with more than one word a freaking time Sam?"

"Yeah, why not."

Dean points his finger at me as if I'm a dog being scolded. God, I hate that. "Well Sam, you're really convincing. Now I know something is wrong and if don't tell me, I'll just have to find out on my own.'

Thanks for the trust Dean. Thanks for pretending. And don't you worry. I know.

He doesn't really say much else for another ten minutes. Just lets me sit there all freakin awkward as he puts away the guns and knives. Cleans his messes. Takes care of what needs to be done. Wish I were like that.

"So Sam, why are you shaking?"

Huh?

I look down at my hands after his slightly sarcastic remark. Sure enough, my hands are shaking. I try to stop them, but these hands won't listen to me. Listen goddammitt! Stop giving Dean a reason. Stop giving him a reason to open his mouth. Stop giving him a reason to push me into defensive mode

Dean with his stupid sarcasm. Dean with his serious questions.

"Sam why are you shaking?"

Worried about the curse. Duh. "Not sure, you're not really making this a comfortable environment."

Come on, Sam. Why are you picking a fight now?

"Yeah well, I'm not all the freakin comfortable having to walk around with shoes on all the time, since you know. The floor's covered in glass."

Dean with his anger. Dean with his harshness.

Dean with his Deaness.

"Then how about I make all of our lives a little easier and get out for a few, huh?"

Dean shakes his head for what seems like the millionth time in the 20 minutes I've been awake. "No Sam. No matter what you say to me, you're not leaving this hotel room. And you're not leaving my sight."

Ha. Dean with his death wish.

A/N: Come onnnn leave me a review pretty pretty pretty please : )


	6. Keep Trying to Explain

A/N: Well this is the longest chapter I've done, for this FF, I hope you all like it. When I first started doing it I thought it was going to seriously suck, but I'm somewhat happy with how it came out for once lol. PLEASEEEEE REVIEW!! Thank you to everyone that has btw you guys are amazing.

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…KEEP TRYING TO EXPLAIN

-DEAN POV-

Come on now, Sam.

You know I don't need Dad's journal to know when you're lying.

So face it. You're lying.

And you need to stop. Now.

Maybe you're not telling the whole truth, maybe every word that's left your mouth was imagined from that head of yours. But one thing is for sure. You're lying in a lame attempt to keep someone safe. To do 'good'.

All I can do is hope is it's not me.

Sam, are you doing something stupid? Are you messing with things like life and death? Are you accepting fate? Destiny? Some other crap someone who knows nothing about you told you? Are you telling me the truth? Am I ever going to ask you any of these questions?

No.

Would you lie to me if I did ask you these questions?

Probably.

For the past day I've been watching you. I doubt you noticed. I'm just too damn good.

You walk around the room on invisible eggshells, too afraid to give away any clue. Sam, you're a walking photo album of emotions, thoughts, and ideas. You're a gallery of grief and regret. Guilt and sadness. I need to get you out. Something's killing you. I know it.

Sam, do you feel guilty?

You sit on your laptop. And I noticed. When I walk over to 'get' something from the table, you 'x' out the window. You hide what you're looking for on that computer. You hide what's bothering you. Sam, you suck at hiding things.

Sam, why do you stare at the desktop of your computer?

Is that really what you're doing?

You go in the bathroom every once and a while. Stay in there for about half a minute, then you come out. But for the most part you're in this room. This goddamn space. You don't look at me. You definitely don't talk. You just stare out into the air contemplating on something. You're making life changing decisions in you're head. Without me.

Sam, can I help you make your decisions?

Can I have some details as to what specifically is going on with you?

Don't you think you owe me that much?

You've turned on the TV maybe three times today. Usually all you can find is some pathetic infomercial or 'TV special'. You hate that crap. Or you flip to channel with some mellow-dramatic television show. Issue of the week. Some crap like that. A show with prompters and product placement. Shows with girls who look straight from those magazines I read. Boys from those fitness magazines I flip through while I'm in the waiting room of a hospital. God you hate that stuff even more. I bet you're not even watching it. I bet you just want me to think you are.

Sam, do you think I'm blind?

And when there's no bathroom or laptop or soaps to keep your attention, you just stare. Stare at the wall. Stare at the floor. Stare at your lap. Stare out the broken window. I hope it doesn't freakin rain-

Stare at the door like your weighing your chances of getting out if. Stare at the glass and not bother to clean it up. Stare at everything but not really see anything- Stare at me?

Not sure, maybe. I am pretty goddamn attractive.

It takes me about eight hours to finally work up enough courage to ask you what the fuck's going on. And of course order you to clean up your freakin mess (which is still there, as if I haven't said that enough. Maybe if I keep thinking it, you'll hear me and get the hint).

Nah not going to work.

"Sam. I'm done with this bullshit. Get up and help me clean. _Now."_

Ok, I said that a bit louder than I meant to.

After that I wouldn't be surprised if Sam responded with 'Yes sir'. I can't believe how much like my dad I sound.

Mind you, I think those words I said just shook the earth. Woke little girls in Australia and other countries across the world from their sweet little dreams. Made wussy men in California dive under their table in fear of the 'coming' quake. Made bodies six feet under jump from their graves. My voice was probably heard by things so far up in the sky and souls so far down in hell.

That's how fucking scary it was.

All listening to me order my brother around. All listening to me finally realizing the only thing dad's journal or dad taught me how to do was be just like him. I turn to that when I don't know what to do. Did I already say that?

But my brother. My brother does absolutely nothing. He just stares.

Sam?…

I would have a question, but after that there's only one thing I can really say.

What the fuck?

"Sam!"

Ok now he gets up from the bed. The trance is broken. Sam is back.

Well not really.

He seems to get up and move in a motion I don't understand. He kneels down carefully, aware of the shards of glass littering our floor, glancing at the window ever few seconds. Fuck this motel is cheap. They didn't even realize their friggin window is broken.

I let out a sigh, when I see my brother can actually _hear _me. Too bad he's not talking to me. Or looking at me. Just quietly being obedient. Doing what he's told. Hey Sam! Snap out of it!

I'm an idiot. My brother is clearly not in his right state of mind and I'm forcing him to clean. He's still a little weak, from whatever the witch did to him. He's still not Sam. And I decide to go to the bathroom.

For the record, I don't have to go.

I just want to get away from my brother for a second. I just need to breathe.

I stay in there for maybe… I don't know, three minutes. Pretty goddamn selfish, right?

So I come back and take a look at my brother and begin to go about whatever the hell I've been doing all day. It takes me all of 15 seconds to realize my brother is bleeding.

That's too long.

"Sam?"

His hands are all cut up. There's glass sticking out of them. It's pretty grotesque but I don't care. All that matters is Sammy. All that matters is _my_ Sammy.

Sam ignores me and continues to pick up glass from the floor, blood now flowing freely from his fingers and palms. It's nowhere near life threatening, but my brother is letting himself get hurt. My brother is willingly let his hands feel pain. He's welcoming scars to haunt him forever. Like he doesn't even have much longer to feel pain. Like he's running out of time to _feel._

Sam, can you even feel it?

"Sam stop."

My voice is firm. It's power. It's superiority. It's stop. It screams _stop._

Yeah, Sam doesn't stop.

"Sam I said to STOP!"

Oops, did I shake the earth again? My bad.

No one would know the goddamn difference anyway.

Now Sam stops and looks up at me. He slowly reaches out and begins to pull pieces of glass from his, now pale, sweaty skin. My brother's skin. He doesn't wince but I do. I can't stop myself no matter how much I want to. I guess when he's content with the lack of glass in him at this point; he stops and looks up at me.

Dear god, his face is drenched, I mean _drenched_ in tears.

These tears couldn't all have fallen in the three minutes he's been down here. These tears must have fallen throughout the entire day. I slowly reach out a shaking hand to touch his shirt and it's damp. My brother's been crying all day, and it took me until now to notice.

Until now. Eight hours later.

Maybe I was the one staring and not seeing anything.

Now he's sobbing, making noise as he weeps and I can feel the embarrassment, the self-pity radiating off of him. He covers his face in his bloody hands. The tears and blood mixing together and making slow paths down his chin and onto the carpet below us.

Now I understand why motels have dark carpet. Keeps all the stains from the eyes of new guests. My mind drifts to the secrets this carpet must hold, and suddenly I'm disgusted and all I want to do is grab my brother and place him safely on his bed.

That's when he starts talking. Or mumbling really. He's trying to confess about something, but from the few words I catch my mind automatically shuts it out. Shuts out the hurt and the fear attacking it. Shuts out the goddamn emotion.

All of it.

And all I really comprehend is that this is something I don't want to know, something so scary I would take the deadliest creature on before I touched this. This is how hurt sounds. This is how a desperate brother sounds.

This is how everything falling apart sounds.

You know what, Sam. Don't answer any of those questions. I changed my mind.

You can keep lying to me.


	7. It's Salvation That You Want

A/N: Ok now that I've been updating this like continuously I'm going to take a little break (like 3 days) so I can update my other fics. I've been getting a lot of inspiration for this story so I thought I should write it all before I forget, so hear it is. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and if anyone has any ideas on how I canimprove let me now : )

**-----------**

**IT'S SALVATION THAT YOU WANT**

**-SAM POV-**

God, can you see me?

Inconsequential. Adjective. Meaning: not important or significant.

That's how I feel right now. Not important. No way am I significant. I'm just this small little person trapped in this big body. I stand up for a second and realize I tower over my brother. Me. The smallest most insignificant thing to ever grace this earth.

I may not look it, but trust me. I'm tiny.

I put on this goddamn self-righteous act. I paint my face so many colors it could never be. I'm a liar. A tiny, insignificant liar.

And I'm so into making people feel sorry for me. I don't mean to, I swear. I sit around all day in this sort of trance. And when I finally come back I find that I'm sitting on a bed with my eyes facing the wall. I'm crying so hard, I wonder if there's a puddle beneath me. And even with this entire show I'm putting on over here, Dean hasn't said one word. Hasn't acknowledged my obvious distress.

I can't even get my own brother to feel sorry for me, that's how unimportant I am.

Goddamnit I'm selfish.

Dean keeps asking me to clean up that mess. And I know that's one of the only things he can think about. But every time I so much as glance at the mess on the floor, I slip into this fear. Like from those pieces she's gonna come back. She's gonna make this more worse than it already is. I can't even face a pile of broken glass. How the hell am I supposed to face my so-called fate.

God, what do you think of all of this?

I've hit my breaking point, in case you haven't noticed. So I'm turning to you. If there even is a 'you'.

I can't turn to Dean. I can't give him another reason to worry. I can't put something else on his shoulders. I don't want to cause him distress. Or confusion or any of the feelings I'm feeling right now. I want this taken care of quietly. I want this over before Dean even finds out what 'this' is.

And I don't know what Dean wants me to think he's doing, but I know what he _is_ doing.

He's been staring at me all day like I'm a king. A president.

That's right, Dean. I'm George Washington, reincarnated, sitting on the floor with shards of glass sticking out of my hand. I'm the yellow-eyed demons chosen one, tears are streaming down my face and I feel like I'm choking on them. Pretty goddamn pathetic, right?

I'm Jessica Moore's boyfriend. I'm Mary and John Winchester's son.

I'm Dean Winchester's brother. I'm supposed to be better than this.

So at this point I've basically used myself as a human sponge. Pressed my hand down into the glass covering our floor to get them to stick. Get them to pierce. But by now I've cried myself so sick, my fingers are tingling. My head is on cloud nine. My entire body is floating somewhere high in the air. A place when petty things like glass and blood do not equal pain.

So I press my hand again. This is supposed to hurt. And all it does is bring a few tears to my eyes. No, not tears of pain. Tears of realization. I'm realizing I'm numb. I can't feel a thing. Should I be happy or sad?

God, can you feel me?

Dean's probably only left me alone here for a few minutes, but it seems like forever. That was the longest three minutes of my life. That was the three minutes when I felt myself give up. I actually felt myself give up on life. I'm giving into fate even though there's probably choices I can make to change it. I can change it, I know I can. But I don't know if I want to.

I've practically been counting the seconds until Dean got back, but when he did I didn't even notice. I'm just sitting here like a complete phsyco. The self-destructive freak sitting in the middle of his dingy motel room. The chosen one? The cursed one? What a joke.

I'm a joke.

I say how a pray every night. And some nights I dream. I dream about god, about redemtion. Salvation. Reclamation. Delieverance. It scares me. I don't know why I'm scared to dream of god, when those are the only things I want. All I really want is to be saved from all of this. And still I'm pushing it all away.

I'm a hypocrite.

I say how I rely on what I can see, when I let my mind drift to the idea of salvation. To the idea that in three days I might kill my brother. To the idea that somewhere in the sky there is a heaven where my mother and father are together, watching over us.

I don't even notice Dean touch my shirt and quickly pull away from me. I don't even notice how I'm crying salty tears into open wounds. I barely even recognize that the soft and soothing shh's are coming from my brother.

I don't even notice I'm suddenly confessing. I'm confessing everything to him. I'm telling him all my secrets. I know he doesn't know what I'm saying. I know he's shutting out the chick-flick-ness of this moment. Ha. I know.

God can you hear me?

I'm letting go of all of my secrets and still feel no weight being lifted. The burden is still there. The trance-like state is still coming and going. I still can't feel anything.

I'm done. I'm gonna die like this. I'm going to cry myself to my grave. I'm sealing my casket. Digging my hole. Burning my body. I'm lighting the match and watching it go up in flames. I'm killing myself, and I know it. I'm fully aware but I can't even snap out of it.

I wonder if I should give up if I'll die. I wonder if they'll open the gates of heaven for me, or if they'll push me down into the firey pits of hell all alone. Maybe that's all I deserve. I'm too small to belong in heaven. I'm too insignificant.

God, will you let me in to heaven?

I'm desperate for Dean to hear me, desperate to make this all go away. The only thing I feel now is myself crumble into Dean's arms. But his arms can do nothing for me. His embrace alone should be more than enough to stop me from changing, but they're not. They do nothing for someone as small as me.

"Come on, Sammy don't cry.

How do you expect me to stop?

"You have to stop you're… You're going to make yourself sick."

I already am sick.

"You're… Little brother… You're gonna make me cry…"

He already is, I can feel his tears on my shoulder. This is what a brother who doesn't know what to do feels like. I feels like a soft head on my shoulder. It feels like a hand on my back. I feels like to hearts breaking at once.

It feels. It sounds. It looks. It smells.

It's this room. It's right now. Right here.

I don't know how I'm supposed to get saved like this.

"Relax"

He's letting my head rest on his soft shoulder. Letting his shirt be a tissue for my tears.

I've stopped mumbling, stopped letting my secrets overflow. He seems somewhat thankful for this. Who knew, I finally tell him everything he wanted to hear and he's tuning me out. My brother is tuning out my voice.

I'm just crumbled into my brother as he whispers assurances that are almost as inconsequential as me into my ear.

Dean keeps whispering words that are nonsense. Almost as much as the ones that witch whispered.

He's saying so many things. So many heartfelt things.

But he still never says what I really want to hear.

He never says "It's all going to be ok".

God.

Can you save me?


	8. I am Right, I Swear I'm Right

**A/N: **Alright now I'm really stopping lol. I need to do some of the other fics hehe hope you like and LEAVE ME A REVIEW PLEASE I dunno I'll give you…I don't know what should I give : )

**---------**

**I AM RIGHT, I SWEAR I'M RIGHT**

**-DEAN POV-**

All right, Sam here it is. I'm letting go. I'm going to pull out of this strangling embrace. Are you ready?

And for the record, I checked. There's no page in dad's journal on how to deal with a broken brother. So, I'm coming up with this as I go along. Using my brother as a guinea pig.

Just thought you should know.

I checked his forehead in an extremely discreet way. He didn't notice, but I did. He has a fever. He's past his breaking point and right now, he needs rest. He just needs to stop crying.

Stop crying, goddamnit!

I'll pull out and hold him by his shoulders firmly. I might shake him a few times to get him back to normal. I'll help my brother up. I'll sit him down. I'll say 'Be back in a sec'. I'll get the first aid kit. I'll clean the cuts.

I'm Dean Winchester. Trust me. I know what I'm doing.

I do it. I follow through with my plan and try my best to ignore the looks of hurt on his face. The body language that's only asking for one thing. All he's doing is asking for me to take him into my arms and never let go. And I'm denying him. I'm a rejecting my own brother.

I'm your brother. I know what I'm doing.

"Come on Sammy, let's get you in bed…"

He groans and more tears start to fall. He's dying for me to do something and I know what it is. He'll never ask. I'll never ask. It just won't get done.

"Dean…"

His voice is so broken. I haven't heard him really try to talk all day and the only word he whispers is 'Dean'. All he can think to say is my name. And I'm such an ass. I just hush him; make his eyes go down in embarrassment. Make even more tears spill from those eyes. Sam, if you don't end up driving himself over the edge, I fear I might do it for you. Where's the 'good big brother mode' when you need it?

By this time I'm cleaning his cuts. They're still bleeding and I can't stand it. I can't let one more drop of blood fall out of his body. This needs to stop. I'm going to make it all stop.

I'm a Winchester. I know what I'm doing.

"Dean… Don't make me sleep."

He's broken. He's begging me. He's begging for me to listen, but I won't do it. All I care about is myself. My emotions. What's going to happen to me if I take 10 minutes out of my life to listen a broken brother? A brother that needs me so much right now.

I shake my head in response and I don't even have to look to know his eyes are filling with tears. Sure, Sam can cry. Sam can let people know about his emotions, but never like this. Sam cried less when he was a baby. Sam cried less while he was in complete agony. I guess a brother who doesn't care is more hurtful than any injury. Any torture.

"Sam, stop crying right now!"

I can't believe myself. I can't be Dean Winchester, I just can't be.

I'm someone. I think I know what I'm doing.

Sam's just looking down, holding his hands out for me to bandage them up. I put the bandages tight to keep anymore evil from getting in. I barely even notice I've destroyed him with five words. With five words I've shut him out. I've pushed him away. I've left him all alone in the information I refused to hear.

I push him down to lie on his back, after fluffing his pillow. I strip my bed of its blanket and cover my sobbing brother with it. As I'm tucking the edges under him I realize he's trying to reach out to me. His bandaged hand is open and searching. He's searching for human touch. For compassion. He's searching for my pity.

But he finds nothing. All he finds is air and disappointment. I can't touch my brother right now. I might break him. I might hurt him more than I already have.

I'm right. I know what I'm doing.

"Close your eyes Sammy. Go to sleep…"

That's all I say. I can't even say sorry.

He does as he's told and slowly lets his eyes close. Whether or not he's going to sleep, I don't know. But his breathing has calmed and now the tears are falling slowly from the creases of his eyes. They're silent now. I can't hear them. Now they're only killing him not me.

I need a slap in the face. I need a fucking reality check.

I need someone to tell me I'm wrong.

I kneel down by that goddamn pile of glass and start picking it up but I don't let myself get cut. I'm aware of the sharp points. I see the slightly smaller pile of glass stained with blood. I can't touch that pile now. Not yet.

I glance at my brother every once and a while. I've given up on the watching thing. Because all that did was make me blind. All that did was start us on this downward spiral to destruction or pain or death. Whatever the future might hold for us.

My brother is struggling. Like invisible arms are holding him down. Even when he's asleep he's willing me to comfort him. But I can't. Right now there's no one to stroke his head. No one to hold his hand. No one can tell him we're going to be ok. No more fingers to softly dry his tears. I can't do it. I've never seen my brother this broken. He deserves someone so much better. Someone who can help him.

I throw away the glass and clean up as much of the destruction as I can. And Sam has to be sleeping by now. There's no way he's lying there awake. He can't be listening to me. Because when I'm finished cleaning I can't help myself from letting a few tears fall, and they aren't silent.

I'm weak. Someone with any strength wouldn't give up on their brother when they need him the most. No brother in his right mind would do this.

I have to be right. I can't really have destroyed my brother. I can't be the reason he's like this.

I'm Dean Winchester. I'm your brother. And I have no idea what I've done.


	9. So Let Me Slip Away

**SO LET ME SLIP AWAY**

-SAM POV-

People die every day.

Yeah. I know you probably knew that but I just wanted to make that much clear before I continue.

People die every day. You can believe me on this one. It could possibly be the one thing I'm right about in all of this.

So, bear with me.

Anyways, every night people turn on the news right? They watch the 11 o'clock on this particular channel. With this man and this woman as anchors. These two perfectly selected people by gender, race, personality and looks. These are the strangers that bring you the evening news.

These are the strangers who get paid to tell the world about everyone who died.

Well not everyone, just the people who died in the most 'interesting' situations.

Each segment. Each story lasts about one minute. Each reporter gets about one minute to tell you the entire life of a person who has died and the situation in which they died in. One minute.

And those are the lucky ones.

Because you see death, it lost its kick a while back. People stopped _caring_ about death a while ago.

Wondering what this has to do with me yet? Bear with me.

Well people die all the time. It all just fatalities. When there's a huge catastrophe or a mass murder or a disaster, do we ever _really_ take the time to remember each and every person? No it's just X amount of casualties. X amount of destroyed families. X amount of children left without a parent. X amount of hours of news coverage.

Bear with me. Trust me, I'm getting to the point.

So when all this is going on are we taking the time out of lives to remember each and every person we've lost? No.

We're just thinking about ourselves.

How will this event affect my life? What can I get cheaper now? Should I put my kids in private school? How about I lock me and my family in closet and never come out? How will this affect my morning commute?

You crash you're car on a freeway during the morning rush hour. Your death isn't a memorial of your life, or everyone coming together to morn your passing. Nope. Now you're the beep of horn. You're the extra ten minutes early some one has to leave in the morning. You're death is the AM radio traffic report.

Why do people wonder why I don't understand people?

Are you still bearing with me?

So the point of all this gibberish isn't to make some kind of statement on human behavior. It isn't supposed to change anyone's outlook. It's all just supposed to justify my reason for what I'm about to do. What I've got planned.

You guessed it. I'm ending it.

Right here. Right now.

I'm ending it.

I'm sick of waiting for someone to notice. I'm sick of carrying on all tortured and vacant and wondering when Dean or someone is going to care about what I'm dealing with. I'm sick of waiting for Dean to tune me in, not tune me out.

I can't keep going like this. I just can't.

So say it. All of you go ahead.

I need a loony bin. I need a goddamn straight jacket.

I need Dean to tell me just how wrong I am.

So it takes about an hour of thinking. About ten minutes of planning. And about 3 seconds to realize Dean has taken every weapon and put it back in the car. I mean, everything.

Just so you know, we're screwed to hell if the freakin witch comes back.

I sit up in my bed and realize Dean is asleep. This is what I call dumb luck.

I manage to roll my feet over the side of the bed as quietly as possible but then soon realize this action makes me dizzy. I'm trying to get up but my body won't cooperate. This fucking sucks. Dean took my gun. Dean took my scythe. I wouldn't be surprised if I looked over at my shoes to find the goddamn laces missing.

What am I suicide watch?

Who other than me thinks I shouldn't be?

It takes me another minute or two to lean back against the headboard and not see stars anymore. Then it takes me about thirty seconds to see the Tylenol on the nightstand next to me.

Dumb luck.

I reach over and fiddle with the cap for a few seconds. My hands are shaking. And goddamn children's lock! I can't take this shit!

I finally figure out how to take off the cap and pour the contents of the bottle onto my lap. It makes a louder noise than wouldn't have wanted it to and cringe at the idea of Dean waking up to find me like this. I pop a pill in my mouth and swallow it dry. Who would have thought this could be so easy?

Here's how it goes, Sam. This is how I see it

So when you realize you've only got two days left? Take a Tylenol. When you try to move and your body won't listen. Take two. When Dean doesn't wake up and stop you. Take three.

When you think about how pathetic you must look? Take one more.

When you think about Jessica and Mom and Dad and Max Miller and Madison and Sarah and Ava and Stanford and Jo and Steve Wandell and Dean and just about every other person you've let down in your life? Take three. Just for fun.

When you realize you've taken about 12 and that's not gonna kill you? Take three. That brings us to a nice even fifteen.

When you realize you've run out of pills just slam your fist into the wall. Just do it.

Dean moans and sits up in his bed. His eyes wandering for information on why I just woke him up from his rare rest. He shakes his grogginess in about five seconds and realizes pretty quick what's going on.

He sees the tears on my face. He sees the empty bottle of Tylenol upside down in my hand. He sees no pills falling. None on my lap. He puts two and two together. He knows.

"What the fuck, Sam! What are you, O.D-ing on Tylenol?!"

Well yeah.

"What the hell are you thinking?"

That I could die from fifteen Tylenols. And how did I get into Stanford again?

"Come here…" with that slight warning I feel myself being tugged from my bed and pulled to my feet. My vision goes black and all I feel is Dean pushing me somewhere. What he gonna do? Maybe he'll kill me. Then just maybe-

The next thing I feel is cold tile beneath my feet and I know I'm in the bathroom. He forces me down onto my knees with the advantage that I'm still weak and he's shaking me.

"Throw it up now! Get it out!"

That's it. My brother's gone completely mental.

We both belong in a goddamn institution.

I slowly find my voice and whisper, "Dean I only had like fifteen… What are you crazy?"

Dean does something that resembles a cold laugh, "Me crazy? You're the one popping Tylenol like their freakin jelly beans now get that crap out of your system now!"

At first I don't do anything but then I feel Dean pressing on my stomach and my throat at the same time. I already feel sick and with the pressure on both those places I can't control it anymore. I just do it. I do as I'm told. And when there's nothing left to throw up I can't stop myself I just keep dry heaving.

"Dean… why are… you do-… ing… this to… me?"

But he's not satisfied. I can feel his breath on my neck and I know he doesn't want me to stop. Something's not right. I chance taking a look back at him and he's just staring into space. But then I feel another urge to throw up and I quickly throw my head in front of the toilet.

After a minute he's shushing me. I think he's realizing what he's done.

"Shh Sammy… I'm, I'm so sorry…"

It's ok Dean, really.

"Just, just try and calm down, ok?"

I can feel his hand gently rubbing my back and a few minutes when I'm finally done he moves me away from the toilet and let's me lean against the wall. All I hear is the mocking sound of the toilet flushing and then suddenly I feel Dean's arms wrap around me.

He's crying just like I was before. Tears are streaming down his face. And you want to hear something funny? I'm not crying at all. I'm just in shock that he is.

I find my self rubbing his back and hushing him like he was hushing me moments before. And then he opens his stress filled voice.

"I'm sorry Sammy… You scared me I couldn't let you… You just relax ok? Just relax… Just… As soon as you're ready… I'm going to listen… Ok Sammy? You can tell me… What you were telling me before… And I'll listen… I won't… I won't shut you out again… Never again… Just… I'm so… so sorry…"

My brother is rambling. He's finally broken his 'no chick-flick moments' rule and he's crying like a baby. He feels so guilty. He feels so horrible that he may have caused this and I know it. I would stop him and let him know not to feel that way but I don't think I would be able to. My voice is so small and weak right now compared to his. He'd just boom over me. He's finally doing everything I've been asking for, for the past few days. He's just not saying it. He's not saying the one thing I really want to hear.

"Don't ever even think of killing… Just don't ever do that again… I can't loose you… I can't..."

Come on Dean, please say it. Just say it once for me.

"You're the only brother I've got, Sammy… You have to let me help you… You have to tell me what you're going through…"

Please, Dean.

"I'm here now Sammy… I'm not shutting you out anymore…"

Almost there-

"You're… You're going to be alright… We're both going to be alright…"

Thanks Dean.

That's all I needed to hear.

- - - - - - -

A/N: Thanks for reading! PLEASE review and let me know what you thought. : )


	10. Anybody got a second chance

A/N: Alrighty lol I hope you like this chapter : ) !!!! OO some of this chapter is like a direct reference to the song "Let's not shit ourselves (to love and to be loved)" by bright eyes - of course lol. So if anyone like notices for some reason, I didn't steal the line and thought no one would notice. . I thought it fit perfectly and it was like a major motivation for the chapter so, I used it. So yeah : ) It's just what Sam says after Dean's done with his little rambling thing. ANYBODY GOT A SECOND CHANCE… 

**-DEAN'S POV-**

I need to make up my mind.

All these problems I'm facing seem to be about different things. They all seem to have different solutions.

But when it all comes down to it, it's all about me one thing.

Me making up my mind.

Should I help my brother fix himself or break him more? Should I listen to him or turn away? Should I take my dad's advice or should I not?

Should I wake up right now or stay asleep?

Everything is always so clear in dreams. Everything always seems to make perfect sense, but once you wake up it all goes to crap. All your clarity is automatically gone.

Any and all of my sense vanishes with what, one simple action? Opening my eyes?

There's a loud noise in my dream in the form of a 'car crashing' or an 'explosion'. I know that, that wasn't what it really was. I know something is going on outside of dreamland.

I know something is going on with my brother.

I open my eyes and you know what? I'm expecting something like he fell out of bed or he tried to stand and lost his balance. Hell, I'm expecting a goddamn fire alarm. Something unintentional.

Something accidental.

Yeah well, last time I checked suicide attempts weren't generally accidental.

And what was I thinking about before?

Gimme one sec. I just need to figure out what the fuck my brother's thought process is or was.

And I'll admit it. I may have been too rough.

I may have been too harsh.

I may have jumped the gun.

But I don't even have to check to know there's no page in dad's journal that can tell me what to do when your brother tries to commit suicide.

And since the only thing I can really rely on, other than Sam, is that goddamn pile of paper, I have no idea what to do.

I have no idea how I could have let it get to this point.

I know that pulling my brother from his bed will make him dizzy. I know yelling at him will only break whatever hope he has left. I know shoving him to the bathroom will make his damaged body ache. I _know_ pushing him to his knees and forcing him to throw up will make him feel worse.

I knew my not listening would come back and bite me in the ass.

My brother is practically begging me not to make him throw it up. Not to make him feel worse.

I'm sick.

No, not that kind of sick. Mentally sick.

I start pressing on his stomach and throat just to make him listen. I can't even believe myself right now. I can't even believe how horrible I'm being.

And what am I thinking again?

He's been throwing up for close to three minutes now and I can't stomach this. Thinking about myself gives me nausea.

Gives me agita.

I'm looking at my brother in disbelief. He just tried to kill himself. And even though it might have been one of the lamest attempts at doing so, the idea behind it was more real than anything I have ever seen.

My brother just tried to kill himself, and I don't even know why.

Well, I obviously can't just stare at my brother and make him better. I need to open my mouth. These vocal chords have to quit being so lazy and actually work. Actually get going.

And once my mouth is opened and the words start to over flow; they're unstoppable. How horribly convenient.

What a tragic coincidence

My 'mistake'. Excuse me while I call a do-over.

Oops, too late. I already started.

And why did I want to open my mouth again? Make my vocal chords work?

I'm saying things I don't mean. I'm asking for the extra emotional baggage I know I don't really want. I know I don't need. Can't handle. I'm making promises I'm sure I can't keep. I'm setting my brother up for a let down. I'm setting him up for a disappointment.

Me.

When I'm done talking- or rambling- I look at my brother. And he doesn't say anything. Not at first.

He stares down like he's afraid to open his mouth. Who knows what Dean might do if he says the wrong thing. Who knows what I might do to my doomed brother.

He looks to the left. Then the right. Then straight down. At my knee- or my lap. He tries talking but just whispers, "So sorry… So selfish…"

Something like that. Something that subconsciously, on some level of his complicated self is begging for sympathy, for a lifting of this burden he's carrying. I grasp his shoulders for both our lives and make him look me in the eye.

I say, "Don't be sorry. You're not selfish. You made a mistake." His eyes pull away from mine and I search them out. Once his attention is back on me, I continue with my 'speech', "Just don't do it again, ok?"

He nods quickly.

And what did I just say again?

I swallow and shake my head slightly. I help him up and get him to his bed. He sits down on the edge and I sit across from him. We both are exhausted from the ordeal. From the physical and emotional pain we just went through.

But I can't let this moment slip away. This may be the last time I'm able to get myself to seek it out.

"Tell me everything."

That's all I have to say for my brother to get going. He just talks.

He tells me about what really happened with the witch. He tells me about how she read his mind. This for some reason is like a huge piece of the puzzle.

Hey Sam! Remember the shape shifter?

Yeah, maybe it's not the time to poke fun at my brother who's currently falling apart.

So he goes on about this curse. This mumbo jumbo curse thingy ma bobber. Sam's biggest fear: hurting someone. Now I realize why he's been killing himself over this.

Literally.

And why am I making jokes again?

He tells me he's pretty sure this witch was serious. He says he needs to find a way out of this. He says all of these things that I'm trying so hard to not filter out. I need to hear everything if I'm going to help my brother.

He can't be doomed.

This can't _really_ be happening.

I tell him, "Don't worry, Sammy, we're going to find a way out of this ok? No witch is gonna mess with us."

It's probably not the response he wanted, but hey- it's something

Sam hasn't looked at me once throughout the entire explanation. Like he's not telling me the whole truth. Like he can't really look me in the eye. As if the information coming out of his mouth doesn't make me uneasy enough, think how I must feel wondering if my brother is telling me the entire truth.

Think how he must feel wondering if I'm even listening.

Ok, Sam's told me a lot. He's probably been talking for twenty minutes straight, but there's still one this he hasn't told me. There's still one important piece of information I need to know in order to do my job.

Save Sammy. Save Sammy.

"When did the witch say this was all going to happen?"

Save Sammy. Save Sammy. Save Sa-

"She didn't say…"

Save Sammy. Save Sammy. Save Sammy. Save Sammy. Save-

"You sure about that?"

Save Sa-

"Yes!" he says this quickly. He says this looking in my eyes for the first time.

Save Sammy. Save Sammy. Save my brother. Save my father's son. Save my mother's son. Save my best friend. Save Jess's boyfriend. Save the person who saved all those people. Save the chosen one. Save the doomed one.

Save the only one that fucking matters.

Save _Sammy_.

"Ok."

I was such an idiot. Me so consumed in my job. Me so wound up in my duty.

I was such a moron.

I believed him.

-------

**A/N: **Come on leave the poor girl a review : ) !!


	11. For a Tired Man Given Up on It

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed as always I appreciate it sooo much ; ) I changed the title to this chapter and the one before it because I thought it fit better hope you enjoy!

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…**FOR A BROKEN MAN GIVEN UP ON IT**

**-SAM POV-**

So I've been thinking.

Yeah. Nothing knew right?

Well as I was saying I've been thinking, thinking about something everyone thinks about once. Every one thinks about this once, Sam. You're not crazy.

And I think this topic is relevant now that I've royally screwed myself over. It's funny. Most people wait for others to screw them over. I just keep doing it to myself over and over. And I know it.

I've basically come to the conclusion that Dean isn't going to be able to save me. I've decided my fate. Because he can't save me now. Not after I told him everything. He lied and told me we'd find a way. But I know he has no idea how to. He probably thinks we have some time. Ha, time. I only have 1 and half days left.

There's no time to fix this.

So I think at this point I have every right. Every right to wonder this. This one simple question.

What's going to happen to me?

They say that in the case of a terminal illness or when you know you only have so much time left your faith skyrockets. The anarchists suddenly rushing into churches. Fixing their wrongs before they kick the goddamn bucket.

What's going to happen to me?

But me? I feel my faith falling away from me with every second I waste not living my life. With every thought or idea that enters my head it pushes out a piece of my faith, my hope. One of the only things I need right now.

And once I start thinking about where I'm gonna go, the ideas don't stop; they flood my head and drown my senses.

Is there a heaven? Who's there? What's it like. Would I even be good enough to go there? I'm I just a one-way ticket to hell?

I'm scared to go to 'heaven'. It's supposed to be this place of peace and happiness, but what do we do there? Could I ever understand it? Do we spend the rest of our lives there never growing old and doing the same things over and over?

Am I going to be reincarnated? Come back as someone else? That scares me even more. It scares me that I may forget everything I've done; forget all the lessons I've learnt. Just continue 'moving' forward repeating history. I'll loose everything I've gained. Forget all the people I loved. But most of all forget Dean. I'll be somewhere else in the world far away from him and I'll never remember it. I'll have betrayed him. He'll never forget about me, but I'll just have moved on.

I glance over at Dean who's doing research. Research! Research in a time like this!

What's going to happen to me?

I don't understand.

Am I just going to disappear? Is this the only shot I had? I bet it is. This was my only life and I'm going out a monster. I'm gonna go out by destroying myself. My life. My only shot. Could all just really end like that?

Did you notice all I do is ask questions? Yeah, me too.

I need to stop thinking; this makes me sick.

"Sam, I could really use your help."

Dean, the last thing you need from me is help.

I lied to my brother too. I told him we needed to find a way out of this. I said it like there even _was_ a way.

And if you haven't noticed I'm trying to get my mind off of my thoughts.

I don't really want to leave this earth in distress, even though I don't see any other way…

"Sam!"

Dean, what's going to happen to me?

You don't know? Ok. Didn't think so.

"Sam a while ago you seemed worried about this. I'm doing everything I can, don't shut out on me _again_."

Thanks Dean. Thanks for using that against me.

"I'm going to take a nap." I say.

I start to lie down when I hear a slam. Dean's thrown a book across the crappy motel room. Yeah, he's pretty much pissed.

"Goddammit Sam! I don't understand you! We don't know how fucking long we have left!"

Actually Dean, we have about one day, 11 hours and 32 minutes. Bet you didn't know _that_!

"Sorry, Dean. I just don't really see much point…"

All I hear is a soft ruffling of papers and then my eyesight goes black. Who just threw a book at my head?

Oh don't worry, Sam. Its just Dean.

"Don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare give up. You understand me?"

Now he's next to me on the bed, and with the dizziness taking over my body I barely even notice he's graved the front of my shirt and pulled me inches from his face. His voice is filled with anger and desperation.

Dean I thought this would be a good time to ask. What's going to happen to me?

He let's go of my shirt and I fall back down to the bed. He's breathing deep breaths to control his temper. He's pacing the room. He's angry. So, so angry.

Scratch that. It's not a good time.

"I'm sorry."

I know you are Dean.

"I shouldn't have thrown that at you."

I shouldn't have let the witch put the curse on me. I shouldn't have tried to kill myself. I shouldn't have failed at doing so. I shouldn't have given up.

I should be saying this all out loud

"You have to work with me, don't make me do this on my own…"

Yeah well, I didn't want to do it on my own either. That's why I dumped it on you.

How much do I suck?

"Sorry, Dean. I'll help."

I hear him mutter a thank you and a good and possibly an ok. He goes and sits at the laptop and I gather two weapons- or books and sit back down on the bed.

I don't think he really expects me to find a solution, I think he just wants to see me trying. He needs me to try to find a way out of this. So who are we saving now? Him or me?

We've been sitting in silence for close to an hour and I've read about three words. What fucking help I am.

Dean's been working extremely hard. He's typing things in so quickly flipping threw the pages of the close to 5 books on his lap. He jots down notes when he finds something. He's been mumbling to him self and hasn't even noticed I've been staring at him.

What a sad sorry fuck.

"All right Sam I got something!" he screams while slapping down his crumbled notepad.

I turn around and gesture for him to start.

Big mistake.

He's telling me some theory about how he might be able to summon the witch back here. He says that while she's cursing someone she goes into some hind of trance and if he can shoot her _then _it should work. Then he says it should break the curse and blah blah blah.

Great Dean. Let's get started.

"How do we summon her?" I ask purely out of curiosity. There's no way this'll actually work.

"Well I found some kind of séance thing- or whatever you call a séance for witches… I don't know, it's worth a shot."

Huh.

"Ok what do we need?"

Dean nods and says, "Some stuff we can get at the supermarket I guess… We'll go first thing in the morning, it's too late they're probably all closed by now."

Dean closes his notepad and goes back over to the laptop. He so damn sure about this plan.

"Whatever you say, Dean."

Dean groans, "Don't start with that, Sam. This isn't the end, we still have time."

And what if we don't? What if this plan doesn't work? What if I kill you? What if I kill someone else? What if I destroy myself? God what if I die?

What then?

What's going to happen to me?

I just need to see this plan through. I need to see what happens, see if it works. And if it does then maybe, just maybe we can move on. I can stay with this wonder and this lack of faith for a little while longer. But I swear. I swear if it doesn't work I'm done. I'm ending this.

I won't let you die, Dean.

You come first.

So what's going to happen to me?

Nothing.

Nothing I could tell you.

- - - - - - -

A/N: Pleasseeee review they always make my day even if their only one word : ))


	12. This is What I Think so Think me Naive

A/N: Okk hope you all like this chapter. I'm gonna try and update as much as I can but I'm on vacation so they might be a little farther apart. But when I'm sitting around doing nothing I'm gonna update : )

- - - - - - -

THIS IS WHAT I THINK SO THINK ME NAÏVE

-DEAN'S POV-

So Dean you've got your plan. Got your way to save your brother.

You've got it. You've got it.

We're waking up first thing in the morning. I'm getting the stuff. I'm trapping that son- or daughter of a bitch. I'm fixing this goddamn mess. I'm erasing time.

I'm saving my brother no matter who gets in my way be it witch, be it ghost. Be it all of hell rising up to smite me down and bring me down with them.

I'm saving Sam even if he gets in my way.

Here I am. I've got my plan. I've figured out a way to try and save him _without_ help from that journal.

There he is. All negative. All 'not gonna happen'. Completely and utterly and totally sure it's just not going to work. Thanks Sammy. Thanks for the support.

I'm going to wake myself up in the morning and just go without him cause I can't take this crap. I know I've pretty much sucked for the past few days but I'm doing the best I can. And if I wasn't before I am now. And if you still don't believe me look at the notepads full of information. Check your laptop's Internet history. Check my raw fingers; check the bags under my eyes.

Check my head cause you're the only thing in it.

I'm doing everything and anything I can do.

I deserve a little compassion. I deserve a little optimism.

Hey look at me! I'm only trying to save of our lives!

I'm going to bed. I'm gonna take a 'nap'. Gonna make all this empty from my mind.

I probably sleep for a good nine hours and by the time I wake it's ten. I'm just on time. Because Sam's still sleeping and the store just opened. Because now I can go out without his two cents. I can go out without his negative attitude.

I arrive at the store and I'm surrounded by aliens.

I'm surrounded by women searching to get the morning bargain. I'm surrounded by my grandparents. The ones that wake up so early to catch the shuttle. They come to the store to socialize, not to buy.

They're here without a care in the world.

Yeah, I don't really fit in.

And when do I ever?

I get what I need and get out of this strange place as fast as possible. I get to the Impala and throw my bag of goodies in the seat that should be holding Sam. I'm arriving at the motel with half the things I had to do done.

Well, at least I'm productive.

I ease myself through the door and close it behind me as quietly as possible. Sam's still sleeping. Perfect.

And I don't mean that sarcastically.

I can set up as much of this thing with him out of the way. Without his 20 questions, without his 20 doubts. He twists and turns in his sheets as if he knows what's going on outside of his dreams.

I've set up this alter like thing on the table that looks out of the window. An alter in this sleazy motel room. Ha.

Everything looks set. Everything is where it's supposed to be. All I need to do now is get Sam somewhere safe and say the words it told me to say.

How oh so prolific of me.

I'll get the witch here get her to try and cast some kind of curse on me or whatever. Shoot that bitch with a silver bullet right in the heart and I'll be done.

We'll all just move on.

I take one look at my sasquwatch brother and realize getting him out of the way is going to be easier said than done. He's obviously get this little fetish for saving me when he must know by now I'm the only one aloud to do saving around here.

But don't worry. I've come prepared.

Again my productivity, my thinking ahead. It amazes even me.

So I make this drug I've heard about before. The one used to do horrible things to people by knocking them out. You mix this chemical with this chemical and then u put it on a cloth and hold it over the person's face so they breath it in.

Can you believe I'm doing this to my brother.

After the drug is made and put on the cloth, I take that washcloth and stick it in my pocket before stalking over to my brother. He doesn't even have a goddamn chance. I jump over him and hold down his arms with all my strength hoping that his grogginess and the fact that he's still a little weak will work in my favor. He wakes up immediately obviously confused.

"Dean what the fuck are you doing?" he screams, fear brewing in his eyes.

"Sorry Sammy it's just how it's gotta be."

That's all I can say to explain myself? Damn.

I pull out the washcloth and smile sympathetically. His eyes grow wide and I can see tears in his eyes. He acts like he has no idea what I'm doing. He makes faces like this is such a surprise.

"Please… I don't under… stand…" Sam begs through struggles and attempts to save himself. They're all pointless. I'm stronger. I say one last 'sorry' and shove that fucking piece of cloth into his face. He tries to squirm away. Tries to not breathe it in, but he can't help it. After a few seconds he's out.

Way to go Dean. You have successfully drugged your brother.

You've drugged your sad, self-destructive, depressed, scared, confused, suicidal, doomed, chosen, and at times delusional brother.

What the hell do you want? A medal?

I push a pair of handcuffs into my pocket from the nightstand and begin the task of dragging my brother to the bathroom. I strip all the blankets from his lanky form and throw them to the other bed. I walk to the end of the bed and grab hold of his feet and pull. He slowly comes from the bed.

I never really saw myself doing this.

He's getting close to being totally down. His legs are folded on the floor because they're so fucking long and I gently ease his head and shoulder down to the floor. Once he's lying full length I begin dragging him to the bathroom.

This entire genius plan takes about ten minutes to complete for the most part. Once he's in the bathroom I lean him up against the toilet because I'm guessing he's going to be sick when he wakes up.

By the way. Sorry Sammy.

I pull the handcuffs from my pocket and handcuff him to the pipe under the toilet and take a look at my sleeping- or drugged brother. Man I suck.

I'm not really sure how long this is gonna take so I bring a blanket and pillow some water and anything else my brother might need and set it down next to him.

Again how fucking prepared am I?

As I'm about to leave I realize he's probably gonna wake up in 20 minutes. I didn't make the drug that strong enough to keep him sleeping. I curse myself and run to the duffle bag. I find a scarf thing or bandana. Whatever.

I run in the bathroom undo his cuff and make it so both is hands a cuffed, not just the one. I hate my self for doing this but I have no choice.

I gag my brother. Yeah my _brother._

Now I realize the water and blankets a re useless so I put the pillow behind my brother's head and wrap him with the blanket. I set up the glass on the back of the toilet seat and place a straw from one of our latest fast food stops and everything looks good.

Everything is perfect.

Well, not everything. Since you see I still have yet to realize that this plan is not going to work. That Sam was right. That really all my plans all my perfect setups are all just mocking me.

The alter is mocking me. The straw, mocking me. Sam's gag is mocking me. The entire room laughing. Everyone is this entire fucking motel laughing at the fool in room 103.

The fool who thinks his plans are gonna work. The fool who thinks they have a chance. The fool who has hope. Who's trying to save his brother.

The fool walking to the alter and reading the spell right now. The spell that will not work.

So Dean lets think of something to call this.

You can do it. You can do it.

How about prolific wishful thinking

No, no.

Let's call it a productive waste of time.

Yeah, that sounds about right.


	13. My Head is Giving me Life or Death

**A/N:** Omg I'm sooo sorry I haven't updated like any of my stories for a while!! I got into this huge fight with my dad and he like threatened to break my computer if I took it out so I probably would have had like 2 chapters for all of my fics by now but I did the best I could as soon as I got the computer back hope you like it : )

**MY HEAD IS GIVINE ME LIFE OR DEATH…**

**-SAM'S POV-**

Dean never had to ask.

Dean never had to ask why I went to Stanford.

At the risk of sounding like an idiot it surprised me. I figured the question would come up eventually. As if there was some sort of answer other than the obvious.

So I'll say it now. I'll set it in stone so no one else wonders. I left for normalcy. And when everything went south and my world slowly started to fall apart, I still craved and search for that normalcy I had for those two years. I search for normalcy on hunts. I search for it in motel rooms. I search for it with the people I save, with the people I hurt.

I search for normalcy in my brother.

Well fuck that.

Because there's no way any of the past 30 minutes events translate into normalcy.

Ahh rise and shine sunshine, let's see what today brings you. Never mind because your day has already decided. Your day is a bit tied up. Your day is drugged and handcuffed to a toilet. Your day is gagged.

Your day? It's fucked.

And how was your morning? Did you wake with the rising sun? Yawn and stretch your arms with a hint of grogginess clouding your thoughts and vision. Did you wake with innocence and peace? Did you wake with normalcy?

No. I didn't. I woke with a brother pinning me down and then with a cloth shoved in my face. The smell made me want to throw up and I battled so hard, so fucking hard to not breath it in. I begged and pleaded. Say 'please' over and over like he gives a damn.

And why is he doing this again?

Rise and shine sunshine let's splash some cool water on your face. Let's try waking up the normal way. Because us normal folk like to wake up with some cool water. We like to wake up a nice shower and our hair pulled back tight. We're brought back to reality with a sweet 'good morning' or possibly a simple 'how'd you sleep?'.

Rise and shine sunshine. Wake up! Wake up only to be forced into sleep again.

Everything's going black. My awareness is being sucked away and my brother's doing it. I bet he doesn't understand this but he's taking away my normalcy. And that's like taking everything.

I don't even want to think what's going to have changed when I wake up. Where I'll be, where my brother will be. What he'll have done and if it'll be good or bad. Beneficial or detrimental. Will he have fixed all of this or dug us deeper into the hole. And I keep talking about wanting my brother to save me. Keep asking for some goddamn help with this burden. I keep asking for help and I can't even trust him.

Yeah but ask yourself this. Would you trust someone trying to knock you the fuck out.

Rise and shine sunshine let's fix some breakfast. Two eggs for you, two toasts for me. A coffee with one Splenda and half and half. The other with whole milk and two teaspoons of brown sugar, Or is it skim and equal? Sweet n' low and 2? No never mind.

Rise and shine sunshine here's your goddamn glass of water.

I wake up in the bathroom. I gotta say as I weighed my options of where I'd be joining the land of the 'awake' I didn't really think of here. I'm in my boxers and a t-shirt crammed into the corner against the wall and the cold toilet. My ass is on the cold tile. My head is slumped forward uselessly.

And I can't really think straight but I'm not exactly sure.

I think I'm gagged. I think I'm sweating. I think some one beat me up, someone stuffed me here and left me, never to return. I don't think it was Dean. And is this my motel bathroom? I don't remember. I'm gonna be sick. I gotta hurl but I've got this gag in my mouth.

Rise and shine sunshine I'm gonna read the morning paper. I'll settle down in my chair along with today's tragedies. I'll read aloud the parts I find interesting. I'll read the headlines like an opening to a speech. And what happened last night? What happened this morning just soon enough to make print? And where's the paper anyways?

Rise and shine sunrise your newspaper is a man's voice in the other room. That's the only tragedy worth hearing.

He's whispering Latin and I think I'm gonna be sick. I hear him pacing and – and I feel like I'm gonna be sick. And he's sighing frustrated breaths and – and he's angry at someone or himself or me and I think I'm gonna be-

Stop thinking Sam just - just stop talking. Just try and make some sense to yourself and all the other people listening.

I can tell my mind is hazy. I know I'm not being myself.

I look around with confused and useless eyes. This bathroom holds no answers. I look down at the blanket wrapped around me and feel the soft pillow behind my head. I didn't even notice until now that the blanket covers my chained hands from the public. Makes my imprisonment invisible to everyone, even myself. A perfect mask. What an awesome disguise.

I'm gonna be sick. As if I haven't said that enough. I see all these set ups around me. They look like they took thought and preparation. Like the person who did this thought they had a solution to every possible obstacle. I can't really reach the door since my hands are chained. I can't lift the glass so there's a straw in it. I tucked tightly in a blanket. The pillow is already perfectly placed beneath my head. They knew I was gonna be sick so they put me in front of the toilet.

But even with all these perfect precautions there's still one major flaw. This stupid gag.

Tell me how to throw up with a gag in my mouth. Tell me how to drink from a straw with a gag in my mouth. And you know what? I bet I can get that door open. I bet I can lean down and undo my gag. This person was rushed. This person was thinking to much. This person wasn't doing their best work.

And by the way I've got this killer headache, think you could get me an aspirin?

Alright Sam. You're a hunter. You're a Winchester. What would Dean do in this situation? What would dad do? They'd kick that goddamn door open. They'd untie the gag. They'd rip their hands from those chains even if it meant breaking the pipe.

But then again if I was dad or Dean I probably wouldn't have gotten into this situation in the first place.

I shake that pointless blanket off of me and the pillow falls too. I flip around even though the action makes me dizzy and lay flat on my stomach. My legs are up against the wall and this position is extremely awkward but I don't really have a choice, do I?

I use my hands to untie my gag and take the first opportunity to empty my stomach in the toilet. I try and do it quietly because I don't want whoever's out there to hear. After a few more times I'm able to stop myself. I let myself fall to the floor and then try to figure out what to do.

I know I have a paperclip in my pocket but there's no way I'm gonna be able to reach it. I savagely rip at my cuffs, pulling them as hard as I can. I feel then digging into my skin and soon after the skin break. My wrists are cut and raw for no reason cuz I'm still where I started.

I let my head drop on to the top of my hands and flinch when I feel the strangely sharp handcuffs make a thin cut in my forehead. I'm not sure, but I'm pretty sure there's already a bump forming there. I'm so pathetic.

I better just call out. Maybe they'll come through the door and I can kick them. Maybe I can make Dean proud and dig myself out of this.

"Hey!" I call out as loud as I can. I hear someone coming and quickly pull myself into a position where I'll be able to kick them when they try to come in.

The door knob is turning slowly and I brace myself for the worst. Man am I surprised when I see Dean emerge in the doorway.

"Dean…" I breath, "Thank god…"

Hmm this is interesting. If he had been looking for me he probably would have said 'Sammy' or 'Sam' by now. He would have unlocked my cuffs. I would be out of here by now if he wanted me out.

He looks awkward and rubs his eyes before kneeling down next to me. He runs his hands through his hair and looks troubled.

Uh hey Dean! I'm the one tied up here!

He picks up the gag and I just look at him confused. What the hell is he doing?

"Dean… Unlock the cuffs." I say since it's obvious. He does nothing but fingers the gag. I can't help my mouth from falling open. His eyes are looking down and I try to find them as I say, "What's going on? Where are we?"

Dean sighs and looks at me a little worried, "We're in the motel bathroom, Sam."

I look around and recognize this room for the first time and say, "Ok… Why am I handcuffed to the toilet?"

I look at Dean's eyes and realize they're red with tears. He's holding the gag firmly now in one of his hands and he's looking my lap like he doesn't know what to say. I'm trying to use my eyes to get him to talk, no wonder he's not looking at them.

"Dean." I whisper.

He looks down at me, "I have to take care a few things." He says firmly. He holds up the gag a little higher and I shake my head.

"No way Dean." I say. He sighs again and pushes the gag to my mouth. I close my mouth tight and press my teeth hard together so he can't put the gag on. He continues to try and I can tell he's getting frustrated but I'm not gonna let him gag me again.

I can tell he's on the verge of real tears when he whispers, "Come on, Sammy…" in a broken voice. I can tell this is just as hard for him as it is for me.

He gently takes his hand and holds my nose. I try and hold it, but eventually I need air and I open my mouth a little but it's enough for him to shove that goddamn piece of fabric in my mouth. I feel the unwanted tears falling down my cheeks. Why is my brother doing this to me? Why can't he trust me?

"Don… Don't untie it again… ok?" he asks awkwardly. I don't so much as nod, all I do is glare at him. I'm sure I look ridiculous – glaring like an angry child. But there's not much else I can do. Not much else to try and convince Dean to take off this goddamn gag.

His eyes roam over my face and I see a small tear trickle down his cheek. This hurts him, this really hurts him. He kneels down in front of me and reaches for one of those washcloths on the bar above the toilet. He wets it in the sink and gently soothes my stinging wound. He presses the cloth lightly and continues talking.

"It's just… I have to take care of this witch… I have to save you. I'm gonna get her here and waste her I just… I just want to make sure your safe… You know…" Dean chuckled lightly and continued, "You sort of a control freak… I don't want you to do or say something to get yourself hurt…" he stops for a minute and then looks down at my raw wrists and frowns. He begins to soothe those wounds too and then starts talking again, "I didn't want to do it this way… I just didn't know how else to keep you safe… But I promise. As soon as that bitch is dead, I'll un-cuff you and take off the… gag… and it'll all be over. Ok?"

I probably would have said something but the gag stopped me from. I didn't want to nod or shake my head so I just let my eyes slip downwards, away from the hopeful ones of my brother. He sighed and I watched his movements from the corner of my eye. He slowly reached for the cup and pushed the straw into my mouth.

"Here, try and drink…" he whispered. I didn't want to do what he said at first, but the gift of water seemed to good to pass up and took a few slow sips still not daring to look up at my brother. A little before I was done he pulled it out and whispered, "It'll be over soon. That witch will come… I know it'll work."

He set the cup down and put a hand on my shoulder lightly before standing up to leave. I think he looked at me one last time before leaving, but I kept my eyes down, trying not to notice.

Rise and shine sunshine let's see if this plan will work. Because you've counted and Dean's been reciting that speech over and over for at least two hours. You're first option was to do everything you could to get out of that room and stop your brother, but when you realized the ritual wasn't working, you calmed yourself down. You felt relief. You felt happiness. You felt all your hope gone. You felt your last chance failing. You felt a huge oxie moron.

Your brother's voice is distressed. He keeps reading that ritual over and over. Like the twelfth time would be any different from the first. Like sounding like a broken record will just annoy the witch into showing up.

Your brother is desperate, sunshine. Your brother is holding on so tightly to the little hope he has left. Your brother is in denial.

Sunshine, your brother's stupid enough to think this'll work.

Sunshine, you've had everything taken away. Your freedom to help. Your freedom to move. Your normalcy. Your hope. You're just this near-evil hunk of self pity cuffed to a toilet by your brother. You're a goddamn hunter. You do a job no one knows about. You live a life no one would believe. You're cursed and in less than one _day_ you're gonna turn evil.

Your family is dead, sunshine! Everyone you love is gone! Everyone except the person who cuffed you here. The one that's willing to get himself hurt possibly killed to save you. Doesn't he realize that if this witch did come it would probably hurt him. Even if he killed her he could be seriously injured and you're locked in here unable to get to him. That you, sunshine, will probably be the reason for his death.

Why is everyone so obsessed with saving_ you_, sunshine?

I hear a book fly across the room and connect with the wall. I hear a table thrown over and I wonder if maybe it worked, maybe she's here. I scramble to get myself free but stop.

"Goddamitt!" he bellows. The witch isn't here. He's just realizing it doesn't work.

I hear him crumble to the ground leaning up against the wall right behind me. I bet he doesn't even know it but we're back to back. I'm here trying to comfort him and he doesn't even know it.

He stands up and I hear him breathing hard – panting actually. He stomps over to the bathroom door and throws it open. There he is standing in the doorway panting, his face wet with tears. I do nothing but look at him through sympathetic eyes.

He doesn't know what to say so I'm guessing he says nothing. Just quietly bends over and unlocks my cuffs. He doesn't say it didn't work because he knows I know. He doesn't say he's sorry because he knows I know. He doesn't nothing because I've said it before and I'll say it again.

I know Dean. I know.

I rub my wrists for a second before reaching up and untying my gag. I grasp the toilet and pull my self to my feet. My cramped body aches and protests but I need to stand next to my brother now. He needs me next to him.

He walks out of the bathroom and I follow leaving my makeshift prison behind. I sit down on the bed and take a look at the destruction. It's not too much.

He walks to the window and gazes out. We're in silence for a few minutes before I finally break it.

I don't know what to say so I just say how I really feel.

"I'm sorry."

He turns around and looks at me. He knows I mean I'm sorry his plan didn't work and I'm expecting him to say something stupid like I shouldn't be sorry, but I'm relieved when he just nods and begins to clean up his mess.

So sunshine look at your brother. Look at what you've caused. Look at his hurt. Look at his fear. It's all on _you_, sunshine. And guess what? You've get less than a day left.

And what is it you've been doing? Searching for_ normalcy?_

Well good fucking luck, champ.

Because you're never gone find it.


	14. But I Can't Choose

AN: Ok hope you all like this chapter. It took me a while to write and I actually cried writing, it. I'm not really sure why though I've written much sadder and not cried, but I think the way I wrote Dean in this chap so desperate made me a little upset. I also like never write in all caps but i thought i needed to emphasize (cant spell that stupid word!) that they're screaming at eachother. Hope you like : )

…**BUT I CAN'T CHOOSE**

**-DEAN POV-**

Say it.

That's right. Say it.

You've thought it now repeat it. Un-lease your voice. Un-cap your pen. Announce it. Muse it. Say it.

Say I'm an idiot.

Say I'm a fucking goddamn fool. A jerk. An ass. I'm the villain in this story.

Wait scratch that, that's the witch.

I'm the idiotic idiot. The one that ends up screwing everything up. I'm the one who takes two steps when they should only take one. I'm the guy that goes too far. I'm the jerk who cuffed his brother to the toilet. The one who tried so hard to save him only to fail. I'm the failure in this story, I Midas well be the murder too.

Because you see, I've done research and I know that if my brother doesn't kill someone, he's going to end up destroying himself. If he has the chance he's going to kill himself, once he's turned, his mind is going to be so set on killing. So set on the power that comes with murder it won't matter to him if he's the one who's killed.

He'll use his bare hands. He'll rip off his skin, tear out his heart. Goddamn Internet. You go to it wanting answers but are never happy with the ones it gives you.

So yeah, I'd call myself the murder.

Cuz if I can't save my brother I'm putting the gun to his head. This ritual not working is me ripping off his skin. Time running out is me tearing out his beating heart. God, someone stop me. Some one stop me from failing.

But there's still time I tell the bed as I face it. By the way, I'm currently at the part when I freak on the book and table, like it's their fucking fault. I'm at the part where I throw my body into the wall and crumble to the floor. I'm at the part when I fail.

But I have some optimism left. There's still time. We don't know how much, but I doubt it's coming soon. This stuff works in years, maybe months? Definitely not this soon though.

This is the part where I realize I still have a brother handcuffed to the toilet. The part where I realize I'm still being an ass whole, I'm still doing my big brother job all wrong.

So I reach the part where I run to the bathroom and throw the door open. I'm still not completely under control. This is unacceptable. I can't be showing my real emotions. Stop breathing, Dean. Dry those stupid tears, Dean. Be perfect, Dean. Do everything right and do it now, Dean.

Now as I'm standing here I can't even undo his gag. All I can do is undo his cuffs, leaving him to handle the rest. I don't look him in the eyes I just slowly exit and he follows behind me. Now were back in this motel room. This trashed room that makes me sick. This room that is the home base of our world coming to an end. It's all going down here.

"I'm sorry."

And for the first time in a long time I think Sam's saying what he really means. For the first time in these past few days Sam is telling the truth. He's sorry the ritual didn't work. He's sorry that I've failed. Something deep down in me wants to tell him no. No Sam don't be sorry, don't ever be sorry. But I can't really do anything but think about my failure now.

I nod my way through this, trying my best to put it safely in the past. But as I begin to clean up the mess I've made I realize I don't know what to do now. I searched forever, looked at every website I could to find this ritual. While we were working on the hunt before we had no idea how to get this witch either and were close to calling in friends for help. The witch had no clear patterns for her victims. The other people she cursed all had different things. One was drowned in money. The other eaten by bugs. What ever their worst nightmare of most desired dream was she somehow found a way to flip it around and make it come true. She came to who ever, so we weren't sure where she would strike next. It was all a big guessing game until Sam got involved.

Say it, Dean. Say it now. Tell Sam your lost. Tell him you don't know what to do, "Sam we should get back to work."

Tell him, Dean. Tell him you can't believe it didn't work. Tell him your heart broken. Tell him you're close to loosing it. Tell him you need him, "It's no big deal. We'll find something else. It's not like your gonna turn tomorrow."

And that was the part where I lie.

I see Sam flinch or something go off in his head. Some red alarm and quickly ask, "What?"

Sam looks at me with the face I know. It's the lying face, "What?" he mimics.

That was the part where Sam lies.

I walk over to the bed and stand right in front of him before saying, "Sam if you know anything else right now we be a pretty good time to tell me."

"There's nothing!" Sam yells. I stare him down and Sam doesn't flinch. He stays strong this time and holds his ground. And there I go again believing him.

He continues with, "I don't know when it's gonna happen. I don't know what I'm gonna end up doing. I don't know what I'll do if there's no one around to kill. I just don't know."

And me? I could have flinched then too. I could have took in a high-pitched breath when he said he doesn't know what's gonna happen if there's no one around to kill. But I find my shove-everything-in-the-closet-hide-it-under-the-bed mode and do nothing. Anyways, it's better if he doesn't know.

He stays quiet for a while. He's not cleaning like I am. He's not researching like I will be. He's just sitting staring blankly at the wall like he's been for the past few days. He's thinking, obviously. He's worried – again obviously. And I'm surprised when he jumps out with a question I would only think to here from him if he was desperate.

"What if you can't strop me from changing?"

No, no, no Sammy. You can't ask me that question. You can't expect me to give you an answer for that. Because I'll say it's not gonna happen and you'll just say what if it does. And I'll keep trying to forget it but you won't let it go and we'll go on and on until you make me promise to kill you. Or lock you away. Or hurt you or something I will never do. Something no one not even you can ask of me.

Sure enough that's how it goes.

"Not gonna happen Sammy."

"But what if it does?"

"It's not."

"But, Dean-"

"NO!"

"Dean you can't just push this aside, we have to have realistic expectations we have to know what we're going to do if-"

"What are you a shrink? A doctor? A lawyer? No. You _were_ a college student. You have a brain. You have a better one than mine so figure it out."

Wow. Harsh.

"I can't believe you're doing this, Dean."

"Yeah? Well I can. Because if it's the last thing I'm gonna do, I'm gonna make sure nothing happens to you. I'm gonna make sure I stop it before it comes to the point where we even have to think about what we're gonna do, ok?"

That was a mouth full.

"Dean, don't put that much hope in this if we're not even-"

"You may not be sure, BUT I AM!"

There I go again shaking the earth. Moving the goddamn tectonic plates. Rattling. Stuck goddamn plates to the earth and turned the machine up all the way. Threw everyone's hearing out the window. Particularly my own.

"Please, Dean. You have to tell me you won't let me be a killer. You have to promise-"

"This again? You're not drunk this time Sam."

"Yeah I'm not. I'm thinking clearly. And I still know that if I turn into a monster… you have to kill me."

"Sam. I. Will. Not. Kill. You."

"Well whether you like it or not you're probably going to have to. So-"

"I'M NOT GONNA HAVE TO _DO_ ANTHING!"

"YES. YOU. ARE!"

I'm taking deep breaths now and Sam and I are just glaring at each other. I say nothing because anything I had to say would be something I've already said. So when Sam talks I have no choice but to listen to his fucked up psychology.

"Dammit, Dean. You're so selfish. You're so fucking selfish-"

"ME? You're calling me the selfish one? You're the one asking me to kill you! You're the one asking me to be left here all on my fucking own with that guilt."

"But, Dean. I can't let myself hurt people or god Dean, you. I can't I just-"

"Sam, if you change, which is never gonna happen, than I will lock you in the fucking Impala while I hunt the bitch down if I have to look in every corner of this entire country.

"Dean… I can't live like that. You'd really consider locking me away while you tried to figure something out? What if I got loose and hurt you or someone? Huh?"

"God Sam, you really must not trust me if you think I'd let it get to that point. You really think I'd kill you off Sam? Who else am I gonna have as a hunting partner?"

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the part where I was sweet and kind and a good big brother. That was the part when I tried to make Sam laugh.

"Find a new partner."

This is me. Being in shock.

"What?"

"I said find a new partner. Because I won't jeopardize your safety. What if go down as a murderer. What if-"

"WHAT IF… What if we didn't have this conversation, huh? Because if I have to tattoo it to your arm or shave it into your hair or dig it into your brain… I'm gonna make you realize you are not going to turn evil. End. Of. Story."

There was a long pause and we both just sort of stared at the floor

"Dean if you don't do it I'm going to do it myself… But if it gets to the point where I can't… control it… You have to."

That was the part where I wanted to throw my brother against a wall.

"SAM!"

"No. You don't have to promise, you don't have to say yes. You just have to know it. And I know you do. I trust you."

I'm left with Sam's final words. His eerie words that almost seem like goodbye… Like he's whispering his farewell to me in a reassurance. In a promise. In a simple meaningless phrase people use everyday. He says 'I trust you.' But he means goodbye.

But why?

Goodbye to what? To consciousness? To awake? Because after that he lies down and falls asleep. To helping me? To hope? All of the above? And by the way I wish I couldn't read my brother so well.

I also with I didn't read him so poorly.

Sam's on the borderline between asleep and awake. And that's when I decide to open my mouth. That's when I decide to keep him awake forever.

"You shouldn't trust me then, Sam. Because I'm not gonna do it. If you want it so bad, do it yourself."

Now who is that sick fuck who said something with that much poison, that much betrayal to their own brother. Who just broke rule number one? Who just pulled the trigger and ripped the skin. Who just torn out their own brother's heart, threw it on the ground and then flattened it with their boot? Who just-

Never mind.

It was me.

That's me telling my brother he shouldn't trust me. It was me, me of all people telling my brother to commit suicide. My mouth can't belong to me. That brain isn't mine. I'm possessed! I'm a shape shifter! Get that witch because she's cursed me too!

I talk and talk about how I know when my brother this, or I know when my brother that. But now? I have no idea how my brother will react to what I just said.

Take it back, Dean. Take it the fuck back.

And I know what you all must be saying now, all must be thinking.

No, the great Dean Winchester would never say that. Those desperate almost hopeless words would never roll from his tongue. Dean could never be that fed up with his brother's pleading. Dean would never just give up on his brother's life. But guess what people? Dean just did.

Take it back, Dean. Take it the fuck back.

This is the part where I see Sam rustle in his sheets, his breaths heavier, almost scared. He rolls from his side and sits in the bed, his face a little wet with tears. He smiles a little, like his greatest dream has come true. His dream that I, Dean, would just let him end himself. Let him save the people he would hurt if he didn't. He nods. He sniffles. He wipes a few tears from his face and quickly lies down about to fall to sleep.

And that was the part when I hear a few chocking sobs wrack my brother and all I want to do is die.

"No, I didn't…" my voice is raspy and sore from yelling. My head is spinning from disbelief. I'm here in a body that can't be mine. I'm here with a brother I've given up on.

So when I found out about all this I jumped to action. I egged by brother on. I did work. Every time he managed to fall apart I found a way to jump back, push my own fears aside and put him back together. But this time… It's not like Sam's fallen apart. It's like our last option has fallen apart. Sure we'll sit here and research. We'll try other things but the likely hood of anything working is slim. It's none.

I see Sam's asleep and can't here me telling him I didn't mean it. I can't wake him. I can't because that would involve saying his name and I can't do that right now. I can't wake him because that could involve touching him. I don't deserve to touch him right now.

I deserve to stay awake all night and watch him. I deserve to suffer from lack of energy and the second he's awake I'll tell him I didn't mean it. I'll make sure he knows I was just frustrated with myself. I'll tell him all these things and all I hope is that he listens.

So there you have it folks, the big climactic moment. The slight and not too drastic turn of events.

And just for the record, you know, in case anyone was wondering.

That last thing? The last thing I said?

That was the part when I said goodbye.

A/N: Ok hope you liked it i'm guessing like 20 chapters? 19? 18? Not sure yet we'll see where it goes. Let me know what you would like to see happen in the story because usually when i hear what people want to read i seriously take it into accont. I have this obsession with making everyone happy hehe luv u guys and thanks soo much for reading and (possibly! pretty! pretty! please!) reviewing. 


	15. Name

A/N: Ok sorry for the lack of updates, this chapter took me a while. There was a lot of thought that went into this chapter, I lot of cheesy 'hidden meanings' and stuff that I don't usually attempt to do. But I just read The Life of Pi and I got this whole idea. A lot of it also came from an amazing song by Bright Eyes called 'False Advertising' so I put some of the lyrics here. I usually skip over lyrics at the beginning of chapters but these have a lot to do with the chapter so if you have a sec take it and read them : ) And yeah… I'm so happy to finally be posting this chapter because my stupid 14 year old head is aching from it. 

I also thought it might be good to say what songs I've been naming these chapters after, so I don't get like sued or something so here it goes:

CHAPTER 2/3: Devil in the Details – Bright Eyes

CHAPTER 4 : I Believe in Symmetry – Bright Eyes

CHAPTER 5/6 : Sunrise, Sunset – Bright Eyes

CHAPTER 7 : Inspired by: Waste of Paint – Bright Eyes

CHAPTER 8/9 : Vindicated – Dashboard Confessional

CHAPTER 10/11: The Car in 20 – The Early November

CHAPTER 12 : Prelude 12/21 – A.F.I.

CHAPTER 13/14/: The Best of You – Foo Fighters

Yeah there mostly Bright Eyes hehe.

Ok? Wow that was a long a/n but I dunno this chapter took a while I thought maybe I'd say more. I also am going to from this point on reply to every single one of my reviews. I realized it basically needs to be done because I'm always happy to get a review reply so I know the author even cares. The reviews have always meant soo much to me, but now I'm just gonna start showing it. Anyways please enjoy : )

- - - - - -

**NAME**

**-SAM'S POV-**

'_On a string, I was held._

_The way I move, can you tell?_

_My actions are orchestrated from above._

_So I swing and I sway._

_Wave my hand, kick my leg,_

_And it is always right with the music.'_

_-False Advertising – Bright Eyes_

Hello. My name is Sam.

My name is Sam. That'll be the only thing most people will ever know about me.

Sam, the useless piece of information I tell people first. And now that I think about it, why do we just tell people our names? Why is that the first thing people want to know?

Why not: Hello. My name is suicidal, or Hello. My name is I might just kill you in less than a day.

How about: Hello. I can't really talk right now because you see; I might just go deadly on you. I might just have lost count and actually be changing right now.

Names are nothing. They're garbage. It's like, names represent nothing about us. We didn't choose them. They're just what our parents decided would fit an unborn child, a child they have never met.

Your name is Sam. Probably short for Samuel. Named after god knows (or Sam knows) who. Maybe a relative. And I guess that's all I need to know about you right now. It wouldn't be important to know you're a ticking time bomb. Who cares if you've got an expiration date? Why does it matter to me?

Hello. My name is happy. My name is joyful.

Here I am, fighting with my brother, holding back tears every time his voice shakes the motel room. I take glances around every so often and realize most of the destruction we've caused is still there. No mask could hide half of the things we've done to this poor room.

By the way, in case you haven't noticed I've been in here for five days. Haven't left once.

But anyway, every time Dean yells, all I want to do is give in. His voice is so persuasive; his pleas for me to not give up on him are hitting my heart dead on. It all makes perfect sense and yet still, I need him to just let me know he's going to take care of what needs to be taken care of if I can't control myself. I'm so scared. I'm so fucking scared but I can ever let him know that.

I eventually give in. Try to let it go. I know Dean wouldn't let me kill anyone. I know he wouldn't let me kill him and then when I'm done go on to hurt more people. Dean's my brother. He knows. He just has to know.

I turn my head on my brother and towards slumber. I see rest in my sight and the idea alone is too much for me to resist. Maybe I can just let this argument fall away. Then we won't have to think about it until I wake up. Then, just maybe, it'll all have calmed down

"You shouldn't trust me then, Sam. Because I'm not gonna do it. If you want it so bad, do it yourself."

Hello. My name is Sam and I don't know what you think I should say.

Tell me. What is the correct response to that statement? Tell me. Tell me, Dean. What am I supposed to do now?

Soft tears form on my pillow-buried face. Water. Salt. Things I use to kill, now mixed together and threatening to kill me as well. These are tears. I wonder if I could die from them. I wonder if I could do as I'm told with these small, insignificant droplets of water. Tell me. Tell me the answer, Dean.

I start to roll over; mostly just to see what Dean's done to himself, but as I'm about to look at him I find I can't. I try and move my eyes towards him with pure will power, but they're glued to the carpet with tears. They're glued with pain.

My head is nodding. My hands are trembling. I'm don't even need to do it myself, I'm dying already.

I've lost all control and given into my body. Given in to what it wants. What it thinks.

My body is rolling back over to the bed and I'm sure I'm close to sleep when I hear this pitiful sob erupt from somewhere. My body shakes and I try to figure out who is making that awful noise before realizing it's me. With each horrible noise I try and stop it. I try and stop myself from hurting Dean, but these sobs are much more powerful than me.

When the sobbing dies down I figure out that my body is just shaking and practically choking on the damage I've done to myself. Now, I think of my big brother.

I think of how he must be feeling. I think about the pain. I hear the pathetic, 'No I didn't….' I know. Am I selfish to act like I didn't? Am I a horrible person to use his sudden loss of composer to end my own life? What the hell is so wrong with trying to save someone? Huh? Why does it have to be so damn hard?

My body, sometimes called Sam, shakes more and before I'm able to sleep my mind races.

Dean said it. Dean said it: it's true. One thing I've learned: Dean's always right, Dean has to know what he's talking about. I trust my brother, I told him myself.

'You shouldn't trust me then…' 

Don't worry, body. That part wasn't true. Only the last part. Only that.

'_Do it yourself.'_

Do it yourself, body. Just fucking do it.

Part of me just wants to go now but somewhere else my body is screaming no. No, body! Take these last few hours. Just sleep, body. Just sleep one last time. Dream one more time. Wake one more time.

Look at him one more time, body. Look at the person who's just a plain old hero.

And while you dream, body. Live in it and take it. Take what's yours, take that last ounce of life and taste it before you're gone.

Taste it before you're ashes.

Rest to prepare yourself to rest forever.

My eyelids are heavier I think, and my body is taking over. More powerful than me. More powerful than sobs. I'm held hostage by a meat suit. A big bag of water.

My body sleeps for hours. It dreams about closure and joy. It dreams it's last dream, probably. And my body's smart you see. It knows it.

Didn't even have to let it know.

My body wakes to find a scene much like the once it fell away to. Dean's still awake I bet. He's still watching. He's still dying, just like me.

Those eyes that supposedly belong to me switch over to the analog clock as if on autopilot. That's it! I'm on autopilot. I've lost control of this body. It just moves and does. It makes its choices with artificial intelligence.

The clock says a morning time. It says a time I know is a half an hour away from transformation. Thirty minutes south of monster.

My body is envisioning a finger around a trigger and a gun to its head. It's its finger I guess. Actually, I know.

My body is sitting its self up and looking around in awe, in awe of life. In awe of what it is dying to end. I hear faint words leaving my brothers mouth but much louder I hear my body's decisions. Go to the bathroom. Wash face. Look in the mirror. Think.

So it does its plan. Ignoring Dean's begs.

The watch on its wrists says twenty-five minutes till the end and as my body's eyes look into the mirror I see it smiling. That bastard of a body! Smiling! Smiling in a time like this!

It wastes more time pacing the room. Staring blankly ahead, while choosing to ignore things like "Please, Sam." And "Don't shut me out, I'm so sorry." And of course the all too famous, "I didn't mean it. I didn't."

The clock is ticking away and isn't it funny how I'm counting minutes now? First days. Then hours. Now minutes. Seconds? Doubt I'll count those.

Now I guess my body is realizing that I've got ten minutes left. Ten minutes to get going and pull that trigger. But its plan isn't working out. Its procrastination is working against it.

Pretty soon it's close to done and all it can do is switch on the autopilot take a breath and walk towards Dean.

_Move forward. No. Left. Then stop. Pause. Breathe._

_No Dean, I'm fine. Don't touch. Fine. _

_I'm standing. Perfectly placed between the TV and the bed. Dead center. And Dean, you're standing directly in front of me, between the red wall and the yellow wall. _

_And you know what you're separating me from? The door._

_My exit, my escape, my way out. Why do I want to leave? Almost forgot, but now it's coming back to me. I'm saving you. But I see your trust in me is petering away, and that's the one thing I need right now. Dean, I need you to trust me. I need you to trust that I'm doing this for you. I need you to trust that I'm saving you._

_I'm saving you from myself. This. This hunk of ticking time bomb. I'm at one minute. Maybe less, but definitely not more. I'm ticking to a stop and when I reach zero I'm going to do something I'll regret. I don't want to regret, I have enough to regret._

_00:50_

_You're saying 'No'. I hate that word it means wrong, it means mistake, it means hurt. Well, at least most times, now I feel like it means savior. _

_00:40_

_You want to save me, just like I want to save you. You want to help me… Thanks… I'm good. I got this thing called autop… I'll stay here where you can't touch me. Because if you can't touch me, then I can't touch you. And if I can't touch you then I can't hurt you… Unless… No? Good. I left that thing over there. Yeah, I can't hurt you from here. _

_I step. You step too. You won't let me pass. But I won't let you get hurt, I won't let you d…_

_00:30_

_My exit is getting dragged out too long. Thirty more second and I swear I'm adding another thing to my list of failures. Another excuse for you to save me, and yourself. And can't I save you for once? I never told you, but that's all I want to do right now. All I really want to do is save you. _

_Why? You want to know why I'm running out of this room? You want to know why my head is hanging low and I can't look at you in the eyes? Is that what you want to know? Want to know why I'm swaying and feeling dizzy? I know why but I won't tell you. I know why but I won-_

_00:20_

_Easy. This should be easy. I should have sneaked out; I shouldn't have 'scared you'. That's what you said I'm doing; you said I'm 'scaring you'. I'm scaring myself Dean, hence why I want out now. I want to be where I'm only scaring myself. Not anyone else._

_00:10_

_Dean, don't you understand? I need you to move; I need to get away from you! I want to push past you but that would involve… Never mind… And this goddamn thing won't work. I was supposed to just turn it to on and walk out without emotion. Without giving you a clue something was wrong. Stupid auto…_

_Didn't I say I just needed to go? Didn't I say nothing was wrong? Didn't I ask why I was scaring you and didn't I assure you there was nothing to be scared of? Trust me Dean, I'm doing this for you! The apprehension alone is killing me; just wait until these seconds are over._

_00:05_

_I should have known. I should have left while you were in the bathroom. I should have left while you were sleeping. I should have left when- _

_I've been living in a world of denial for too long. I knew that this instant was coming today. I knew it was coming during this hour. I knew it was coming at this instant, and still I did nothing. _

_Dean, you have to move, you have to or else-_

_I'm taking this into my own hands. I'm running towards the door. Say 'I'm sick of this nonsense.' When you Dean, you make the most sense._

_But you catch me. And that's when I feel it. I can feel it. I feel it the instant that my wrist is in your fist and my chest is resting on your open hand._

_00:01 _

_I feel my priorities change. This thing was supposed to work! Let go Dean! Let- Oh god Dean-_

_00:00_

It failed. My body failed.

And it took me until now to realize this one simple fact.

It never was my body, it never was my choice. It was a place I thought my soul could handle but I was proved wrong.

My body finally figured out what was best for that thing inhabiting it. That thing that called himself Sam, a human.

And me? I'm figuring out that it couldn't have been me. It wasn't me that did all those awful things. It wasn't me who ignored my brother, who let myself turn. It wasn't me who procrastinated. Who became an it. A thing we hunt.

And by the way: Goodbye.

Goodbye. My name was Sam.

But then again, I know now.

I was never Sam at all.

'_And I know what must change,_

_Fuck my face. Fuck my name,_

__

They are brief and false advertisements…'

_-False Advertising – Bright Eyes_

- - - - - -

A/N: If anyone got it I would love to hear what they think : ))))) I really hope you liked that chapter. I will be updating soon because I figured out where this story is (yay!) and I'm really excited about it! So keep reading and reviewing (please?)

Mucho amor,

Lilia


	16. You're Either Coming or You Just Left

**Title: **Leave Everything Up to Fate

**Author: **M (I guess for cursing…) maybe T

**Summary: **Sam has five days before something terrible takes over him and makes him hurt the only person that really matters. Will he be able to stop himself before time runs out? Lots of Sam angst and hurt brothers. Written in Sam and Dean's POV

**Disclaimer: **Would you believe me if I said I did own Supernatural?

**A/N: **Ok I'm finally done with this update after writing it for what seems like forever. I'm expecting to update all my other fics and then this one relatively soon. I fell down my stairs two days ago and now I'm in a lot of pain for a few minor yet extremely annoying injuries. So basically I'm trapped in bed with my laptop for the next three days at least with way too much time to spare. Hopefully I won't procrastinate and I'll be able to get out a few updates and maybe a one shot. I really hope you like this update I'm not really sure what my opinion of it is yet… Please let me know what you think!

Chapter named after a line in the song 'Sunrise, Sunset' By Bright eyes.

P.S. – Was it just me or was the new episode last night the best episode ever or what. I seriously can't get over that damn episode!

- - - - - - - YOU'RE EITHER COMING OR YOU JUST LEFT… 

**-DEAN'S POV-**

I shouldn't have played with fire. I shouldn't have come here in the first place.

Because now my friends, look where we are:

Welcome to the main event, the punch line. This is the action you've all been waiting for. This is the turning point of the story. An English teacher may call it the climax.

I just call it my worst nightmare.

Actually, it's our worst nightmare according to that…

Lookie there, she managed to kill two birds with one stone. She managed to accomplish the meaning of dozens of metaphors.

She managed to break us both by simply crippling the other.

And even though this is obviously the witch's fault, I know it's mine as well.

I picked this hunt. I left my brother alone that time. I ignored my brother. I tied him up. I let him get hurt more. I drove him to the edge of suicide. I told him to commit suicide. I tried to save him and I failed. I _failed._ I let it get to this point.

I fucked with fire. I tried to put out the goddamn flame.

God I should quit doing that. I need to quit fucking with fire.

I stayed awake all of last night. I tortured myself because of what I said. The eerie words still ring in the background.

"_You shouldn't trust me then, Sam. Because I'm not gonna do it. If you want it so bad, do it yourself."_

All I could think about was how I would make him understand. All I could tell myself was take it back, Dean. Take it the fuck back.

I was going to tell him that I didn't think he should kill himself that we had time. That if it came down to it I would do the right thing, but it would never get to that point.

And here we are now. Everything has changed.

Now none of those words mean a thing. Now we're here and all the drama means nothing. Sam can't kill himself now, and from what I can tell Sam isn't even Sam right now.

I can't make him listen to my apology. I can't do anything but see it.

In the seconds after I hear I silent alarm clock ring I see the color of my brother's eyes change. In the second I feel him change beneath my fingers, I quickly searched my mental catalog. I quickly searched for the answer from my father.

It took seconds to realize what dad's journal doesn't say is what to do when your brother tries to kill you.

Don't you think that should be covered on the first page?

Especially with this goddamn family.

Especially with my freak brother.

It was those seconds that I was deep in thought that I almost let my brother get the upper hand on me.

Actually he does.

When I sway his hand twisted around mine sharply and he manages to somehow have me pinned up against the wall seconds later. I struggled. I writhed in his grasp like a worm dangling between a child's fingers.

"Sam, Sam what the hell are you-"

My panted breaths were cut short by my brother suddenly reaching up a hand to cover my mouth effectively shushing me. Now making me the child. His head cocks to the side and he stares at me quizzically as if he's examining me.

As he looks me up and down I suddenly see his lips part and brace my self for what ever strange words my brother has to say.

"You're so interesting, Dean. I had my doubts, you know… But now I see. You'll work just fine."

I want to gag. I want to die. In this instant I see both our worst nightmares coming true. I whisper 'Christo' and that thing my brother has become laughs and mocks me. I say "You're not Sammy." And it says, "Then who else is?"

My brother wants to kill me. My brother wants to _use_ me. My brother says, "You'll work just fine."

My brother.

Now he's using his entire body to hold me against this wall. His feet are firmly planted in the ground and we're at eye level. My toes touch the tip of the floor and his hands inch close to my neck, effectively momentarily cutting off my air supply.

I shouldn't have fucked with fire. My brother being the flame.

I scramble to get away. I dive in to my memory for an instance my dad was in this situation and of course find none. I struggle. I search. I struggle more. I quit searching.

I see everything going white and I know that it's about to all end with a chocking last gasp and an unconscious state when I feel my body dropped to the floor. There I am, chocking gasping for air and composure because I know I only have seconds to work a miracle. Seconds to stop my brother before he takes me out and I have absolutely no way to help him.

"You know, _brother_. I would be a little more careful around you. But then again, what are you going to do to me? Can't hurt little brother, Sammy. You couldn't bare to-"

Sam had had his back turned and in the second I had seen the opportunity I lunged at him taking his down in one swift motion before punching him as hard as I could in the side of the temple. I knew I had to punch him just right to make sure I knocked him out without seriously hurting him but everything was happening too fast. I mean Sam had only changed, what? Five minutes ago?

Sam goes out cold and I take a deep breath.

"Don't be so sure about that…." I stood up and looked down at my brother's limp body and shouted at it, "And now I know you're not Sammy… He would never be that stupid."

- - - - - - -

It took a few tries to be able to lift his body and get it up to a bed, but I finally managed it. I finally managed to do something.

And I take back that 'I should quit fucking with fire' thing. Fucking with fire seems to have saved my ass.

Ours asses.

I reach under the bed, knowing I have to work quickly and pull out a pile of rope I had hidden. For some reason I had a feeling something like this was going to happen, thank god this time I chose to go with my gut.

I use my knife to cut it up in to four shorter pieces and tie Sam's arms to the headboard and Sam's enormous and almost never ending legs to the legs of the bed. I check all of them so many times I loose count. I can't afford for one of them to be loose.

I take a few steps closer to my immobilized brother and end up sitting next to him on the bed.

"I'm sorry about what I said." I'm whispering. He isn't hearing me.

"I know I've said it so many times in the past hours but I didn't mean it, ok? I didn't."

He can't hear you, Dean.

"I just… What you were asking of me, it was too much. I mean god… Remember when I told you that it scared me… The things I was willing to do for you and dad?"

He can't hear you, Dean.

"I would do anything, anything for you. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you except for one thing. I will not allow you to kill yourself and I will not kill you. Dude I'll kiss an old lady before I do that."

I chuckle but he can't hear me.

"I'll kill myself before I'd do that, Sammy."

He can't hear me get serious either.

"I know it's hard for you to understand… I get you, Sam. More than anyone else in the world and I know that all you want to do is save as many people as you can… What you don't know is that sometimes the person you've gotta save is yourself."

Sam can't hear my wise man moment. Doesn't even acknowledge my so-called words of wisdom.

"You save men and women and children every single day. You save me too… Just by being here, man. I'd be long gone if you weren't here everyday, just being…"

I wonder if Sam would want to hear my chick flick moment but regardless he can't hear it.

"You deserve more than anyone to be saved, Sammy. And I know that I've always been the one to save you but it's getting harder every day. The way danger follows us around, the way we follow it around, sometimes I think it's just plain stupid…" I pause to make sure he still can't hear me, "I'm always telling you I'm gonna save you… I don't know if I can this time… I've never seen you like… that. The goddamn witch won't come, you know that… This is so fucked…"

He still can't here you, Dean.

"And I know you want me to kill you if it comes down to it. I know you feel as though you have some sort of obligation to kill yourself after you've sacrificed almost everything you had for this world. God, Sammy, I know you want to save this world, I know you want to save me… But the only way you're going to do that is if you save yourself…"

I didn't realize until this moment that in the last few seconds of my speech I'd looked away. I'd been gazing blankly out that open window facing that godforsaken alleyway, facing that godforsaken world. I look back down

There he is my godforsaken brother, smiling up a storm. Talking too.

"How sweet, Dean. Talking to me while I'm asleep. How about now that I'm awake you tell me how you really feel?"

I back away, his un-Sam-like smile too horrifying to be close to. I say, "You fucking bastard don't you dare talk. Not while you're in him."

"In who? This is me, Dean. This is your brother. I'm him, just finally being myself." 

I shake my head.

"This is who I've wanted to be all the long, now that I've ditched that pathetic emotional version of myself I can finally be me. I can finally be who I was _meant_ to be, especially after all I've done." 

I punch the wall, "Shut up. Just shut up. Sam's not meant to be anything. Sam's-"

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here. I'm Sam. I bet you're so proud of the brother you fucking raised. Don't ever try to have a real kid. You've already destroyed one.'

I say shut up like it fucking matters.

"But I should be saying thanks, if it wasn't for your amazing stand-in parenting skills I wouldn't have become what I _needed_ to become."

I say shut up like that thing inside my brother actually will.

"Funny how you deny it. 'You've got to face up to who you are.', 'Psychic freak.', the list goes on and on you know. All those times when we were kids. You have no fucking idea what happened when dad asked you to get something from the store and you just left me."

I throw a chair across the room and boom, "I said SHUTUP. Stop downloading his fucking thoughts or whatever. Stop pretending to be SAM because you're NOT. And don't you dare mention my dad. Don't you fucking dare,"

Sam smiles and continues, "Of course. I guess you don't want to hear the real reason whenever you came back I was crying. Why I was so happy when dad was gone for long periods of time. Why I had bruises from 'fighting in school'. You didn't care then, WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU CARE NOW?"

Now Sam was crying. He was screaming hoarse and loud. But he was acting, right? He had to be fucking acting.

"What are you talking about? What are you saying?"

"It only lasted a couple of years," Sam sobbed, "Something ticked in him. Something changed. 'Be more like your brother.' 'You killed Mary you little shit!' 'Ungrateful, so fucking ungrateful. After all I've sacrificed for you!' Then a boot to my ribs. Four or five more kicks before he realized what he'd done and he'd just say 'I'm sorry.' Over and fucking over again. That's why I'm like this!"

That's all I could take I fucking smashed whatever was innocently lying on the table and stalked over to my 'brother' taking his shoulders into my hands, hoping I could shake the crazy out of him, "You're a liar. You're a fucking liar. I know my dad never touched Sam. He was a good father, he did the fucking best he could and you don't deserve to tarnish his memory with your worthless lies."

"You've always wanted to be him. Why don't you finish it and really become John Winchester and take a swing just like he did hundreds of times."

I couldn't take it anymore. I told him to shut up. I tried to get that witch to come. I tried and I failed over and over and I that fucking thing in my brother smiling that malicious smile and I need to just punch him. So I do. He takes the hit and says something like, 'Knew you had it in ya.' And I hit him again. I think I hit him two or three more times before I realize this is my _brother_ and I back away. Horrified, my hands are covered in his blood. Jesus I made my brother bleed.

"You're the same fucking person. That's why, Dean. That's why I've been working with demons. That's why I set my apartment in Palo Alto on fire."

I blink hard and say shut up. I say stop lying over and over and that fucking thing won't shut up. He won't stop telling me _lies_.

"Now I'm a liar, brother? I thought I was your reason for living? What would you do with out Sammy? So you've been living for a liar? For a lie?"

Shut up, Sam. Shut the fuck up.

"They told me to, Dean. The demons told me to. And I couldn't say no. They told me the truth and you and dad. About how you both hated me so much so I left for Stanford and they promised when the time was right they'd give me more instructions. Then they called me you see. In the stairwell going up to me and Jess's apartment and they said to set the apartment on fire. They told me they'd already killed Jess and pinned her to the ceiling and I just said ok. Because that's what needed to be done.

"Then they started giving me more instructions. To go to Lawrence, Kansas. To kill innocent people. I actually came up with the whole _'Vision_' thing. And you actually fell for it. You actually thought I was having visions when the only thing I was having was a call from a demon telling me where to go a few hours before I put on my little show."

This doesn't make any sense. None of the things this Sam-thing is saying goes along with anything that had happened since Sam slammed the trunk shut and said 'We've got work to do.' This Sam-thing was lying, he has to be. But no matter what I think of. No matter what crazy ideas come into my mind about how to get Sam back to normal I know none of them will work. Nothing ever works anymore.

Sam's screaming now. Talking about our dad again and I say, "Please, Sam fight it. I can't listen to this anymore."

Sam screams about our mom, "Please fight it."

Sam screams about the demon, "Please fight it."

Sam says how he's gonna kill me, "Please, fight it."

"Fight it. Fight it. Fight it."

Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight.

Sam hands twist in his bonds and he screams hoarse and loud.

I take my hands and place them on his shoulders again trying to coax Sam into fighting it and I hear, _'Lying, Dean. I'm lying. Don't listen, please don't listen…"_

I move back in shock and my brother's twisting and yelling. The voice has stopped now and without even thinking and touch his leg and hear, _'Kill me, Dean. Can't fight it… Can't…'_

'_Help me, Dean… Please save me.'_

My eyes slip closed and even through all the screaming, all the dying noises in the room I hear nothing but my _real _brother's voice, soft yet terrified. A tear manages to escape from my eye and I furiously wipe it away, momentarily loosing our connection. When I place my hand back on his leg I find myself rubbing it soothingly even though he's twisting desperately beneath me.

'_Please… 'm begging you… begging you, please… S-save me one last time… please…'_

"Shh, it's gone be ok… It's gonna be ok I'm gonna save you but not in the way you want, ok? I'm gonna hunt that bitch down, ok?"

Sam screams more when I take my hand away from his leg but instead of responding punch him again now effectively knocking him out. I find a bandana in one of our duffle bags and tie it securely around his mouth so no one will hear him if he wakes up.

And there I go again, trying. Trying not to be a failure. Because sure I failed before. I'll fail again. But I can't fail this time. I can't let that thing eat him up inside because how long can a man be trapped inside himself like that before going crazy. It's like being possessed. Sam can't go through that trauma again.

I won't let him.

I should have fucked with fire, I shouldn't have. Take the risk or don't. Sit down and shut up and do as your told and maybe, just maybe you'll live you see tomorrow. Whether I should have forced this hunt onto my brother or not. Whether I should have made him throw up those pills or not. I should have listened to him? Maybe not.

No matter what I should have done or could have done I'm here right now. I'm standing up and walking out of the door. I'm not sitting down. I'm not shutting up. I'm not doing as I'm told.

I'm doing what my gut says to do and my gut says you're going to fucking try and if you fail then you're a failure.

But let's not think about that right now.

So fight it, Sam. Goddamnitt fight it just a little while longer. I just need to figure shit out.

I hear faintly, _'Don't leave me, Dean. Please don't fucking leave me alone.'_

And to the unconscious body tied to the bed. To the angel inside a devil. To the witch's curse, to my reason for living I whisper.

"I'm coming back, Sam. As a matter of fact, I'm already on my way."

- - - - - - -

TBC… 

**A/N:** Hope you enjoyed it and please take a second and click that button : )


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